IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


V 


^/.*i, 


% 

K^ 
cS 


V  • 


^ 


% 


1.0 


I.I 


>tt  1^   12.2 

^   U£    12.0 

lit 


u& 


11.25  i  1.4 


1.6 


6" 


^       % 


V 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


^V^ 

^.^ 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WIMTIR.N.Y.  14SM 

(71*)l7a-4>03 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  fnatituta  for  Hiatoricai  Microraproductiona  /  Inatitut  Canadian  da  microraproductiona  hiatoriquaa 


Tachnical  and  Bibliographic  Notas/Notas  tachniquaa  at  bibiiographiquaa 


Tl 
to 


The  Instituta  has  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  baat 
original  copy  availabia  for  filming.  Faaturaa  of  thia 
copy  which  may  ba  bibliographically  uniqua, 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagaa  in  tha 
raproduction,  or  which  may  aignificantly  changa 
tha  uaual  mathod  of  filming,  ara  chockad  balow. 


D 
D 
D 
D 
D 
D 
D 
D 


Coloiirad  eovara/ 
Couvartura  da  coulaur 

Covara  damagad/ 
Couvartura  andommagia 

Covara  raatorad  and/or  laminatad/ 
Couvartura  raatauria  at/ou  fNrtliculAa 

Covar  titia  miaaing/ 

La  titra  da  couvartura  manqua 

Colourad  mapa/ 

Cartaa  gtegraphiquaa  ^n  coulaur 

Colourad  ink  (i.a.  othar  than  blua  or  black)/ 
Encra  da  coulaur  (i.a.  autra  qua  blaua  ou  noira) 

Colourad  plataa  and/or  illuatrationa/ 
Planchaa  at/ou  illuatrationa  an  coulaur 

Bound  with  othar  matarial/ 
RallA  avac  d'autraa  documanta 


jr~7   Tight  binding  may  cauaa  shadowa  or  diatortion 


D 


along  intarior  margin/ 

Laroiiura  aarr*a  paut  eausar  da  I'ombra  ou  da  la 

diatoraion  la  tong  da  la  marga  intAriaura 

Blank  iaavaa  addad  during  ra«toration  may 
appaar  within  tha  taxt.  Whanavar  poaaibla.  thaaa 
hava  baan  omittad  from  filming/ 
II  ka  paut  qua  cartainaa  pagaa  blanchaa  ajout^aa 
lora  d'una  raatauration  apparaiaaant  dana  la  taxta, 
mala,  loraqua  oala  Atait  poaaibla,  caa  pagaa  n'ont 
paa  *t4  filmAaa. 


L'Inatitut  a  microfilm*  la  maillaur  axamplaira 
qu'il  lui  a  iti  pG«aibla  da  aa  procurar.  Laa  ditaila 
da  cat  axamplaira  qui  sont  paut-Atra  uniquaa  du 
point  da  vua  bibliographiqua.  qui  pauvant  modif  iar 
una  imaga  raproduita.  ou  qui  pauvant  axigar  una 
modification  dana  la  mAthoda  normala  da  filmaga 
•ont  indiquAa  ci-daaaoua. 


D 
D 

n 


D 


Colourad  pagaa/ 
Pagaa  da  coukiur 

Pagaa  damagad/ 
Pagaa  andommagiaa 

Pagaa  raatorad  and/or  laminatad/ 
Pagaa  raataurAaa  at/ou  palliculAaa 


Tl 

P 
o 

fi 


O 
b( 
tl 

ai 
01 
fli 
ai 

01 


Q   Pagaa  diacolourad.  atainad  or  foxad/ 
Pagaa  dAcoloriaa.  tachatiaa  ou  piquAaa 


Pag< 

Pagaa  datachad/ 
Pagaa  dAtachAaa 


rri   Showthrough/ 


Tranaparanca 

Quality  of  prin 

Qualit*  inAgaia  da  I'impraaaion 

Includaa  aupplamantary  mataria 
Comprand  du  material  aupplAmantaira 


r~l   Quality  of  print  variaa/ 

rn   Includaa  aupplamantary  matarial/ 


w 

M 
di 
ai 
b< 

ril 
ra 


D 

0 


Only  adition  availabia/ 
Saula  Edition  disponibia 

Pagaa  wholly  or  partially  obaeurad  by  arrata 
alipa.  tiasuaa,  ate.  hava  baan  rafilmad  to 
anaura  tha  baat  poaaibla  imaga/ 
Laa  pagaa  totalamant  ou  partiailamant 
obacurciaa  par  un  fauillat  d'arrata,  una  palura. 
ate  ont  At*  fiimAaa  A  nouvaau  da  fapon  A 
obtanir  la  maillaura  imaga  poaaibla. 


Q 


Additional  eommanta:/ 
Commantairaa  supplAmantairaa; 


WrinkM  paoM  may  film  slightly  out  of  fooua. 


Thia  Itam  ia  fllmad  at  tha  raductlon  ratio  chackad  balow/ 

Ca  documant  aat  fiimA  au  taux  da  rAduetion  IndiquA  ci-daaaoua. 

10X  14X  1IX  22X 


lOX 


y 

12X 


ItX 


lAX 


ax 


32X 


Thd  copy  filniMi  her*  hat  b*«n  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Saint  John  Ragional  Library 


L'exemplaire  filmi  fut  reproduit  grice  A  la 
gAnirosIt*  de: 

Saint  John  Ragionai  Library 


The  Images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legiblllty 
of  the  original  copy  and  In  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specificetions. 


Les  images  suKrantes  ont  AtA  reprodultes  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  netteti  de  l'exemplaire  film*,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  dd 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  hist  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illuetrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  iiluatrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  y  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  exempiaires  originaux  dont  ia  couverture  en 
papier  est  ImprimAe  sont  fiimis  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  termlnant  soit  par  la 
derniAre  pege  qui  comporte  une  emprelnte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustretion,  soit  par  le  second 
plot,  seion  le  cas.  Tous  lee  autres  exempiaires 
originaux  sont  fiimAs  en  commenpant  par  la 
premlAre  pege  qui  comporte  une  emprelnte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustretion  et  en  termlnant  par 
ia  dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
emprelnte. 

Un  des  symboles  suhrants  apparattra  sur  la 
dernlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — »>  signifle  "A  8UIVRE",  le 
symbols  ▼  slgnifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  era  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
rsquired.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  ths 
msthod: 


Les  csrtes,  plenches,  tabieeux,  etc..  peuvent  Atre 
fiimis  H  des  tsux  de  reduction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grend  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichi,  11  est  film*  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  geuche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  Itaut  en  bes,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcesseire.  Les  diagrammes  suivsnts 
illustrent  le  mAthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

\ 


a., 


'71^^ 


^ste?  tToy^iQ^Ty^ 


<==.:Hmica/n)  Mx^/jtzk 


// 


yh, 


,!Kti,,it:jit-.i-i«Bi«K*>W 


DUKCAN 


DUNBATtT 


r  III  s 


frtorb   of  iin  (finnc.*^!  JlUnistrg* 


A  sKETi^M    ..-^^^iQr: 


»•/     :<•  «  t 


^.IFE  OF  TBI   LATE 


«»  t«4 


^•^♦'mtfAi  ^^i.  ^mm  m\)W$i, 


nr  JEHi&MiA  a  c h a p l i n . 

J  h  I  8  /)     K  I)  I  T  1  0  N 

S  K  w    r  O  H  K 

■■'   ^.  t>  Ki-'  N      A  N   i.'     «,•  <..•  V>  *^  A  H  1^ 

•:■  v.* V*  '«      ^.  vf-  «, »  n'  fc    *     f  «  <;  ,»  V 

1  i^*?  ,*. 


-;.#-^ 


t      '    '<^*i<T^. 


ji^ 


({■ 


4{  Ui'a  7t '  rZ^^/^rmA: 


A 


// 


DUNCAN   DUNBA 


tBI 


gluorb  0f  un  ^uxntBt  Pltnxslrg* 


A    SKETCH 


^»%«  K< 


^^i 


LIFE  OF  THE  LATE  P^^STOP '"^"^"  * 


Of    xBl 

-  MoDOUQAL  ST.  BAPTIST  CHUKCH,  — 

VSW   YORK. 

BY    JEREMIAH    CHAPLIN. 

'*  Ai  poor,  yet  making  many  rioh."    2  Cor.  vt.  10. 

THIRD     EDITION. 

NEW  YORK: 
SHELDON  AND  COMPANY. 

BOSTON:  ORAYBS  ft  T  0  U  N  O. 
1868. 


-iiS!*.-,,,  f.  >• 


''  }i    f;   i.'i    •'      '  /■  ■■■  i 


i>  >; 


%'^'t:^  HZ    K 


a  3  r  « •> 


Kttend,  Moordingto  Aetof  Oon|nM, lnih*7Mal86F,b7 

JBBBUIAH    CHAPLIN, 

In  tlM  0I«rk*9  OfllMOf  the  Dittriet  Oonrt  fto  the  Distriet  of  MMnehuMtti. 


■^^^pw^-^^^-^    *  I  ¥  ■  »i  ■ 


.  /■. 


.V  .;  ':  V     ;;  ■•■  (V 


!.   ,•;  iff. 


TO   THB 


PrS0it0»I  Siixni  "^isii^xBi  €fyixxt^, 


THIS     RBOORD 


or  tarn 


EABNEST  HINISTBT  OF  THEIS  LATE  LAMENTED  PASTOB 


u  AmonoirAnLT 


B1BS(DJ^V11D 


BY      HIS     CHILDREN. 


< 


..;-V,4.y*^f)' 


>*. 


*■»,»  I'MM*-     ••  i/AiJ 


Ki  j    vL; »'  'I-      +i  S. .<.•<<  f- 


The  lamented  snbject  of  this  memorial  vohune  left  bebind 
him  Uttteffiore  which  could  be  used  in  its  preparation  than 
brief  notes  and  journals,  and  letters,  the  result  of  a  long  and 
wide  correspondence.  Tlie  main  dependence  of  the  omnpiler 
has  bieen  matierials  fornished  by  members  of  the  AunMy,  and 
by  friends  in  Great  Britain  and  America,  who  had  known  fifev 
Dunbar  long  and  intimately.  For  the  most  part,  the  incidents 
of  his  early  life  and  of  his  ministry  have  been  gathered  from 
the  recollections  of  his  children,  to  whom,  at  different  times,  he 
had  related  them  in  his  own  pleasant  and  familiar  way,  for 
their  entertainment,  and  without  any  thought  of  their  being 
made  public. 

They  were,  however,  treasured  in  the  memory  or  committed 
to  writing,  that  they  might  at  least  be  preserved  from  oblivion 
within  the  circle  of  which  he  was  so  long  the  beloved  centre  of 
attraction. 

The  task  of  sketching  the  life  and  labors  of  Mr.  Dunbar,  — 
undertaken  at  the  request  of  the  family,  —  has  been  to  the 
author  one  of  considerable  delicacy,  in  view  of  the  intimate  re- 
lations that  existed  between  them ;  and  he  has  therefore  pre- 
ferred to  let  the  incidents,  which  form  so  large  a  portion  of  this 
work,  speak  for  themselves  as  they  carae  to  him  from  the  lips 

IV) 


Vi 


PBEFACE. 


and  pens  of  others,  rather  than  attempt  manj  reflections  of  his 
own. 

As  far  as  possible^  the  language  of  contributors  to  this  toI- 
ume  has  been  retained ;  and  the  compiler  would  here  express 
his  sincere  thanks  te  fiiends  who  haive  so  readily  responded 
to  his  request  for  information  or  letters ;  and  his  regret  that  the 
necessary  limits  of  the  work  have  compelled  him  to  omit  much 
which  he  would  gladly  have  inserted. 

In  preparing  this  volume,  he  haa  aimed  not  only  to  gratify 
relatives  and  personal  friends,  but  also,  and  chiefly,  «8  of  greater 
importance,  to  exhibit  an  example  of  singular  devotion  to  the 
best  interests  of  men  and  the  glory  of  God,  in  the  hope  that,  in 
some  d^gnee  at  least,  that  example  might  speak  more  widely, 
and  incite  odiers  to  like  dee^  of  piety  and  charity. 


tftit*. 


■  ■;■     CONTENTS.    ..  ,.   ...-^v; 

CHAPTEBt 

MO 

BbttqAM*— Bojlih  SporUi— Namw  Saoape  from  Owth— nnt  IUIIgioi«ik»* 
piMrfons— Seddng  Ghosta  in  the  Qalok  Hoonteiffa  <-  Wftlbe  of  B«Ugk»i  In  tlw 
Hlghluida t 

CHAPTER  n. 

LaebllnMoIntoah— PeneeuttonfbrOhrbt'a  Sake— Pater  Gnat— SeeUng  aftar 
God — The  Laird  of  Grant — His  Jnstiee  and  Generosity — The  Amkenad  Sonl 
—A  Blind  Leader  —  Temptation  to  Boieide — The  Depoaed  Schoolmaster — Led 
totheCroaa— PeaeeinBellrring, 10 

CHAPTER  in. 

Aapiratlona  Ibr  a  Military  Ufb — Residence  in  Aberdeen  — Marriage  —  Lahore  as  a 
Layman— Thoughts  on  Ohristian  Baptism -^Derirea  ftv  wider  nseftalneea  — 
Saila  for  America — Low  State  of  Erangelical  Belij^on  in  the  British  Provinees  — 
His  Labors  in  New  Brunswick  and  their  B«salt8  —  Call  to  Ordination  by  an  In- 
dependent Church  — Increased  Tilala  on  the  Mode  and  Subjects  of  Baptism  — 
ImiBMSiaa  and  Qcdination — Settlement  i|i  St.  Qeoige  '-  Jabots  Ibr  th*  Blaokf 
andIMUMia~-.Jii>1inwl} .....     II 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Formatlan  «f  the  Haw  Brunawlok  Braagelioal  Society  —  Sails  for  Great  Britain— 
Journal— ArriTal  In  Glasgow— Hindraaee  in  Ilia  Woiric— Kind  Beeeptian  and 
Sjunpathy  from  Dr.  Chalmers,  &c.  — Journal— Letter, 20 

CHAPTER  V. 

Returns  to  Scotland  —  Black  Harry  —  Embarks  with  Ua  Family  for  America- 
Labors  on  Shipboard  —  Provisions  Fail  —  His  Faith  in  God— A  Birth  in  the 
Stenage  —  Visit  ft«m  a  Whale  —  Sufferings  from  Hunger  —  God  in  the  Storm,  .     41 

(T) 


.m- 


VUl 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

land  AhMd — Wreeked  on  the  Oout  of  Bennuda — Kind  Beeeptlon — Letten— 
Preaching  on  the  Island, 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

Voyage  flnm  Bennuda  to  St.  JTbhn — 1^.  Oeotge  — KokeiiU  of  Pastoral  Work- 
Preaching  in  "Gaelic  "—Home-trlali  in  the  New  World— His  Generosity  — 
Letter  —  Grossing  the  Bay, 


CHAPTER  VHI. 

Vidt  to  Mains— Preaches  at  the  BvMoInhun  AModatlon — Wknn  Beoeptfon 
then— Oxltidnnof  the<*Vath«r{i,'* 


CHAPTER  IX. 


1 


81 


67 


07 


ProTidential  Detention  in  Nohleboro'  —  Strong  Faith  in  God—  A  Dead  Church- 
A  Great  Awakening  —  Resigns  Lis  Oliarge  hi  St.  George,  and  Accepts  a  Oall  from 
the  Second  Mobleboro' Church- Arduous  Lalwrs  there- Results,     .       .       .      7S 

CHAPTER  X. 

BemoTechisFamily  toNobleboro'— A  Minister's  Wiftin  the  Almshouse  —  Th* 
Horse  Sermon  —Goes  to  South  Berwick,  on  Exchange — A  Great  ReTlyal  -Letter 
to  Frederiokton  —Resigns  his  Chaise  in  Nobleboro'— Is  Recalled- Letten  press- 
ing his  Return, T7 

CHAPTER  XL 

RemotM  to  Poirtsuouth,  N.  H. — Pfetloua  Sflbrla  to  Bstabllsh  •  BaptM  OIhirA 
thero  —  Strong  Doctrinal  Preaching  —  Opposition  from  "  ChiMtaai,'*  fead  <M1* 
rlnist  Baptist  Church  Formed  —  Independent  Congregational  Church  embraces 
Bnptift  Views  —  TnTlte  him  and  his  People  to  unite  with  them  —  Helpeni  ralmd 
up  —  ReaIgM  hia  Cbarge  —  Remores  to  Otaceter,  N.  H.  —  A  Perilous  AdTanlar* 
-  TWts  Kew  York  -Galled  to  the  Fint  Brook^  and  the  North  Boiiah  (Vm- 
dnra.  Street,  New  York)  Churches, 88 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TakeB  ChRrge  of  the  Vandam  Atroet  Church  —  Tribute  of  Mr.  W.  Seton  —  I«bon 
In  Destitute  parts  of  the  City  —  Formation  of  the  Slxte<>nth  Church  —  BefHend- 
iog  Straogvrs  ~  Preaching  Christ  In  the  Prison  —  Efforts  for  Conriots,     .       .         98 


'f 


OOKHaiTS. 


u 


OB  AFTER  Xm. 

the  Oholwa  Saminer — ][iettn  of  Dr.  Dawttatg—'Liitton  wltb  th«  SIek  vafL  STlnf 
— Is  Prostrated  with  flM  Dlfleus --BMorpi  to  htp  W<nk — Oazvfta  to  ■atnrtalii 
Btrangert  —  Second  Oholn*  Bamnar  —  GodVi  Wtaig  over  the  People  of  hto 
Charge ••••>•..  101 

CHAPTER  XrV.  -* 

Toyage  to  lofOpe—Tblta  hia  Old  Homo  on  the  tpuj—WM  tnteroouw  with  tlH 
People  —  Labon  PabUoly  and  from  Houee  to  Hooae  —  Interest  In  Beoldi 
Baptbta— A  mghlandMIaiionarT  Meeting— Glvtaig  to  the  Poor  Lending  to  Um 
Xiord— A  Search  for  Hidden  Bapttita—Dedre  to  Labor  In  hia  Natlre  Land.    .      Ill 


CHAPT3R  XV. 

nrat  Record  of  Intereit  fai  the  lfe)iiiij— fta  ffWfiJ  Biota  of  1884  —  Hii  Ohimb 
ftnmod  on  Antl-SlaTery  Prindplea  —  Aaaociational  Lettora  — The  Tifanolal 
Oon^tmMMi  at  Rietawnd  (ISK)-^  A  HaVi  BkTthoHer — A  Matrattad  ^ 
—  A  iVMtor  from  fhMi«a— Hia  MoM  mutottan—ITed  Ottdhrf  — 1 
Bally  —  The  Bolla  Slavea  —  John  D  ——  ;  how  Ood  rewarded  hia  HomM* 
HospltaUty, US 


CHAPTEB  35:vj. 

<hU  aiiiilaMnal  to  8e«(h  Boaton --B«twp  t9  llaiw  York  -  OamiMRlqB  Ar  Ilia 
Jtrleken— Charity  fbr  the  Starring  Iriak-^IiMar  ft«m  Joobuty— UMlOHlaa 
of  a  Word — Labora  to  make  the  Poor  Independent  —  The  Old  Ballad-aell«r  — 
A  Street  Acquaintance — A  Ohai|a  againat  '*BMn«ira  Iriand  *'  —  Hia  OratI* 
tade  —  "  Uncle  M." — Knowing  the  Heart  of  the  Stranger — Bemoral  to  Phllfr 
dtlpUa—toltaotoa—fl*taaB«o««»«aak, 


CHAPTER  XVII.  "•    '• 

Latter  on  Unwarranted  Interlbrence  In  Chnroh  Aflkira,  and  on  Hinorltlea  Baalat* 
Ing  H^Jorittea  —  Oonftaalona  of  ItJndicMBa  Klndnela  —  Kxtracta  from  Lettera 
—  Heaping  Ooala  of  Mm*-AMm  to  taig  MWalaaa  — A  lala—  Vaa*^ 
dence, .161 


CHAPTER  XVIU. 

Dark  Dayv  In  MoDoofal  street -The  0)o^d  DIapelled-A  Ifew  Trial  — Diiwl 
AnawtrtoPrayer— Diaeoni«|«nent— A  JoyAilBarpriae,  .      •   '  « 


u  w^ 


IMIATJUITB; 


1' 


]>nftiSnik.ii>&«»iUiii~(^£^tti«WI^»l&.lMiMfiM  *^ 


&w- 


CHAPTER  XX. 


■r^'i 


ObaiMtMlMMcfhkPnMUat^iJBllijiiiCtfiM*!  Aif^^  aiiA 

IIuiii«~lMiMOB7ar«CMfM10Bd--OidttTiillM(tfl>aiilr>Mii«       «te 
Ohudi~A  Diwm-^A  Woia  iB8MMn~H^lBg  WMugr  PMton--X«M«r    ^ 
lhMii»ToiiiigMliilrttt<-UMwtotti9AamlMIOB— litiUi^  ^ 

<klN0wqpiVwinN«wToA— ]WlntmrtlniaMlaM--S«eMMftilVlMi«o     , 


i»?^ 


I  tiM  IM>t  of  «lM  Aianiou  B«tM lllMioiiH7  Union— I«ttw  fton  Mm 


WlMtoinBflMdi— PnMUBfal«iMOmi««d»to  — flM  OilMNn'* 

MMMMt    '       i*       •       •       t  ••       •       t       •,•       » 

CHAPTER  XXn. 


to  filndi  ~  JU  <^pdteig  kyibiiitd  Won -- An  Ai«r7  ^Mtar 
OoB««fMl^rittltltMm— (KiMittbttMAitdaMKfai^  ^'.!.., 

taiM^'ortfiffFtKflr-QoailMdrteNfk,     i      >     T    "t'    •#-«#'fllil' 

Mb—  of  |ym>*tty,  Ooadoitaeo,  and  f  iMnMilj,  to  Mw.  dUriM  It  ■wmil—to     :< 
DoMon  and  Mn.  Dntor— to  Kn.  D — UMm  AeknowMglBff  •  PuMnt  —  to 
ltoy«  DVa  Knuutida  •       •      •      »<•-•'-■••■<<•      •      •      t      t  SM 

CHAPTER  XXIY.       '^;5^'^';r^jvf«i-|^ 


to'v* . 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

AloMwM— eo4»liPfOwaBiiHlwOoBUfc«tog  —  miMo«lMrt  Dortfc-A 
aoRMrMBodw-AiiwilarlilBAttliiUgbU^ranhibMlM  ^. 

loHwr  iltor  >  Oirot  fama^waAt— totttwi  "of  gymptthy,  '«  ^       •Ml 


I 


CONTENTS. 


U 


GHAFTEBXXYI 

n7rfn.OaiiMto«lon— SritotttSniop*— ArItiI— 8i|^tortlMBMUli«r->Itail 
SablwfhinSeotlMid— TiMSMniDMitef  tlwLiwd'a  Sappw  — Hif  latHwl  la 
AmoiM—  ▲  Ghareh  in  •  Hotal— Th*  B^^ttoteiy— Ylilt  to  Ailnoklh,  Bnohln, 
MtdAbtrdMii— TlMlI«iu»7or»  Yoiee  — BMehM  Chuitown  — The  Qtaan*! 
Obamber— Her  1IiOm<7  BemriMd  bj  s  mghluid  Lmi— Pctar  Onat  —  8M>bftfh 
BeirloM— AOgfalandWeloonM— Outlt  Onnt— The  Hranted  Boom  — Th* 
LMiidofDftlTViyaDdbteSootehPanMllM— Bglii— InTwiMM — ToorofttMOvto- 
donluiOaDKl — Oban— StaAk— AParikHUi  AdTMnton— TiwTmMehi— Baok 
toKUmborgh— Toik— LoBdon—Puto— HbBMWudVojage— A  Gate  at  B» 
—Hoow  Agdn —VMih  ibr  Labor —Omrlng  Maet  Ite  HMTm, 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

Attendi  ib«  Mladonarjr  Ueatiiifi  ia  PhiladalpbU— A  mnt  Wedding— A  Ttalt  to 
Tonken— IneieaMof  Labor— ALast  Parttnc 


m 


CHAPTER  XXVni. 

Bla  Lait  Sabbath— nineM— Only  Ohitat  —  Amdety  Ibr  the  Ohmeh  and  ih« 
Oointiy  —  A  Blaned  TUt— Bottfaig  hia  Hbnae  in  Order  —  The  YaU^  mad* 
U|^t  —  Yiaiona  ot  Qloij  —  Baft  at  Home  —  Foneial  and  Bwrtal  —  foMml 
Bermon, 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Uttan  fifom  Barly  Frienda— Tribute  oC  Ber.  JotaTiua  Wlnalow,  D.  D. — of  B«r. 
HowardOagood— Mr.  W.  H.  S.J.  — DaaooaOrUBth 


I 


\ 


mQO'  . 


r« 


.■4if 


.^.,. ....  ,.  -i.,, ' . ..   . .  /-sfea^  "' 

'ir^Ns^^^^it^v^^Wfo-  -         -   -t^*^!»a^■■4H(^«*sl*?>~. 


.i^•.^«s^K,'* 


y*"^*^ 


■Xfri' 


i'*f  'i«i>^^;^i/ 


...  •      ■"  .  -•'vv-  .-  '^i.---;;'  ■■-it:         --;--•?»>.  i~--vr-^-^'^^  5 


>m~-'^  ■ 


.. J.  o^- ■•:.■«■-" 


.■J   ^     _->*; 


^-'L-  ^'ff*cr.^(*-  ■^. 


.  ■  ■SIl.aI'^-^  1  ;■»  :.jk  -i,^»  ,ij'  ,.tVc...;,ii. 


.■.-^-i^^.-H^.iA  -..'x6.,\  .i^..'.;.,.  *;  , 


■::^':,  -;  »^:,'  -■    -jv.}.^- 


,r-.-:^- 


1-  /. 


.^i^'J'' 


DUirOAN    DUlfTBAR. 


«BI 


'-■:-.;    '4    V.i>M<: 


RECORD  OF  AN  EARNEST  MINISTRY. 


mi-j\ 


*j?  <.i 


1 


>1  X  .--t 


a 


a 


I  ^i 


;o 


K* 


■~''j'rft--k=:iy-\:- 


'1^^.:^: 


•  -  .-  A.  --i 


S&K?^1 


i^4 


DUNOAJS    DUNBAR; 


>•?*  t^^'^ij^X- 


'■r 


-»■■ 


THE    BEGOBD    OF    AH    EABNEST    HINIPTBT. 


CHAPTER   I. 

.<■?-«? 


PirthplaM  —  BoyUi  Sportt  —  Narrow  Bioape  firom  Death — First  Ballgloiu  Impreasiont- 
SeeUiig  Ghoats  in  tbe  Gaiok  Mountains  —  State  of  Bellgion  in  tlie  HigUandf.  -  , 

tk 

'HE  river  Spey,  in  tlie  nofthem  Uigiilan(l<t  of*  Scot- 
land, is  rapid  and  circuitous,  and  dotted  at  short 
intervals  along  its  course  by  little  islands.  In  the 
background  rise  high  hills,  making  the  region, 
Strathspey,  so  picturesquely  beautiful,  that  one 
who  looks  upon  it  will  never  wonder  that  the 
heart  of  the  Highland  Scot  is  so  tenderly  wedded  to  the 
waters,  hills,  and  moors  of  his  native  land.  Here  is 
Castle  Grant,  the  estate  of  Lord  Seafield,  and  for  many 
generations  the  home  of  the  "  Grants  o'  Grant." 

Near  this  castle,  on  the  banks  of  the  Spey,  the  honored 
and  lamented  subject  of  this  memoir  was  born,  and  hero 
were  passed  the  days  of  his  childhood  and  early  youth. 

His  father,  Thomas  Dunbar,  occupied  a  farm  on  the 
domains  of  Grant,  where   he  passed   a  quiet,  blameless 


1 

1 

• 

1 

1 

1 

4  DUNCAN     DUNBAR. 

life,  bringirtg  his  children  up  respectably,  and  giving  them 
all  the  advantages  of  education  which  lay  in  his  power. 

The  Highland  costume  and  customs  prevailed  in  this 
region  in  Mr.  Dunbar's  boyhood,  and  the  old  Gaelic  was 
still  the  language  of  the  household.  Until  he  was  twelve 
years  old,  he  wore  no  other  dress  than  the  tartan  kilt  and 
[>laid,  still  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  clannish  Scot,  al- 
though now  wholly  superseded  among  civilians  except  as 
a  sporting-garb  or  fancy-dress. 

In  his  boyhood,  Mr.  Dunbar  was  very  fond  of  violent 
out-door  sports,  and,  by  his  skill  and  bold  daring,  made 
himself  the  head  of  the  mirth-loving  **  laddies  "  round  the 
Spey.  "  He  was,"  says  a  minister,  who,  a  few  years 
since,  visited  Grantown  and  heard  of  him  &om  the  aged 
men  who  still  remembered  him,  "  as  wild  as  the  deer  on 
his  native  hills,  perfectly  regardless  of  danger,  and  a 
stranger  to  fear.  When  quite  a  small  boy,  he  used  to  go 
to  the  Spey,  push  off  in  a  boat  into  the  deepest  water,  and 
then  plunge  to  the  bottom,  remaining  there  till  his  ter- 
rified companions  thought  he  would  never  rise  again. 
But  ere  long  he  would  spring  into  his  boat,  shake  off  the 
water,  and  then  dart  again  into  the  river.  When  he  had 
had  what  he  called  *  a.  gude  bathe,'  he  would  run  his  boat 
ashore  and  *  gang  hame.' 

"  At  other  times,  he  would  catch  an  unbroken  colt  and 
mount  his  back.  The  affrighted  creature  would  bound 
over  hill  and  dale  until  perfectly  exhausted;  then  he 
would  slacken  his  pace,  and  his  persistent  young  rider, 
having  thus  become  his  master,  could  usually  guide  him 
at  will.  He  used  to  mount  any  horse  he  could  find,  and 
ride  standing  erect  on  one  foot,  occasionally  turning  a 
somersault  on  his  back  as  he  was  galloping  off  at  full 
speed.     The  last  surviving  companion  of  those  days  says 


NARROW  ESCAPE  FROM  DEATH. 


that  he  often  rode  in  this  vraj  from  Grantown  to  Aber^ 
nethy,  a  distance  of  six  miles.  -_ 

"  Another  &,v<2«te  amusement  was  to  balance  himself 
on  his  head  on  the  *  Bridge  of  Spey,'  the  foaming  waters 
rolling  beneath  him.  Old  people,  seeing  these  pranks, 
were  heard  to  exclaim :  *  Sure  the  laddie'U  brak  his  banes ! 
Wee  Duncan  will  come  to  nae  gude  end ;  and  e'en,  gif  his 
life  should  be  spared,  he*ll  be  gude  for  naething  s>ave  a 
mountebank.' " 

His  equestrian  tricks  formed  a  bond  of  union  between 
him  and  the  young  son  of  the  then  Laird  of  Grant ;  and 
so  agile  and  skilled  was  he  in  the  Highland  dances  that  ho 
was  often  invited  to  the  castle  to  take  part  in  this  amuse- 
ment, where  he  drew  forth  great  praise  from  the  courtly 
guests.  Thus  his  early  years  were  passed  in  great  frivol- 
ity and  constant  danger.  >"      ^*-'^.  >   »^nf; 

He  was  naturally  full  of  spirit,  ambition,  and  love  of 
adventure  ;  entering  into  his  sports  with  the  same  energy 
and  perseverance  which  characterized  him  in  after  life, 
when  these  traits  were  consecrated  to  a  holy  cause.       "^ 

A  circumstance  occurred  at  this  time,  which  nearly  cost 
him  his  life,  and  to  which  he  used  in  after  years  to  refer 
with  great  solemnity.  '       ■    ' 

In  the  middle  of  the  Spey,  near  his  old  home,  is  a  large 
rock,  from  which  one  can  cast  a  stone  into  five  counties. 
From  this  he  used  to  leap  when  going  to  bathe.  In  one 
of  thf  se  aquatic  exploits,  being  alone,  he  was  seized  with 
cramp  and  found  himself  sinking.  He  knew  there  was 
no  mortal  helper  near,  and  felt  that  all  was  over  with  him. 
The  cold  waters  encircled  him,  and  he  soon  found  himself 
stretched  helplessly  on  the  river's  bottom.  Perfectly  con- 
scious and  free  from  pain,  his  past  life,  with  all  its  frivolity 
and  sin,  rose  before  him,  and  he  feared  to  meet  God.     He 


0 


PUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


f^ave  up  all  hope.  But  in  an  instant,  there  appeared  to 
his  quickened  vision  a  form,  robed  in  dazzling  white,  com- 
ing down  and  floating  over  him.  He  felt  the  grasp  of  a 
hand  in  his  hair,  and  found  himself  rising  to  the  surface. 
He  opened  his  eyes  again  near  the  rock  alluded  to,  and 
grasped  it  eagerly  for  support.  He  now  heard  voices 
shouting  that  a  boy  was  drowned,  and  saw  men  at  a 
distance,  who,  having  found  clothes  but  seeing  no  bather, 
were  alarming  the  neighborhood,  that  search  might  be 
made  in  the  river. 

In  relating  this  circumstance  not  long  before  his  death, 
Mr.  Dunbar  said  the  picture  of  that  white-robed  form  and 
the  grasp  of  its  hand  were  as  distinct  in  his  mind  then  as 
if  he  had  really  seen  it,  and  added :  ^^  I  have  often 
thought  of  this  passage  in  connection  with  it :  ^  Are  they 
not  all  ministering  spirits,  sent  to  minister  unto  them  who 
are  the  heirs  of  salvation  ? '  God  was  not  done  with  me 
then.  He  had  work  for  me  to  do  on  earth.  And  who 
can  tell  but  he  sent  an  angel  from  his  courts  to  save  me  ?  " 

After  this,  he  was  troubled  with  fearftil  dreams  and 
convictions  of  sin.  Among  his  papers  is  the  following 
with  reference  to  this  period :  "  The  first  religious  impres- 
sion I  remember  to  have  felt  was  at  the  age  of  twelve  or 
thirteen  years,  when  hearing  a  missionary  preach  near 
where  my  father  lived.  I  was  so  inattentive  to  the  dis- 
course that  I  cannot  remember  his  text  nor  any  particu- 
lar truth  he  advanced.  But  so  it  was,  that  on  the  way 
home  my  soul  was  filled  with  horror  from  a  sense  of  guilt, 
which  I  got  somewhat  over  by  resolving  to  give  up  my 
play  and  to  read  the  Scriptures.  This  I  attended  to 
when  I  reached  home.  I  read  that  afternoon ;  but  in  the 
night  had  dreadftil  thoughts  of  eternity.  This  was,  how- 
ever, of  short  duration ;  and  my  mind  soon  became  as 


s*ii.^Sii--t:  i.i^'i' 


GHOSTS  IN  THE  OAlOK  IfOtJNTAINS. 


dead  and  insensible  as  ever.  I  do  not  recollect  to  haTd' 
had  one  serious,  thought  firom  that  time  during  the  e^ace 
of  three  years,  when  I  remember  hearing  one  L —  D — , 
a  young  minister,  whose  discourse  left  some  impressions, 
which  I  think  led  me  to  pray  for  a  day  or  two ;  but  this, 
too,  was  soon  forgotten.** 

There  was  not  ft  little  superstition  mingled  with  the 
sound,  practical  common-sense  of  the  Highlanders  of  that 
day.  With  this  he  had  no  sympathy ;  even  in  his  boy- 
hood taking  great  pleasure  in  showing  that  he  was  fear- 
less of  " bogles,"  "banshees,"  and  the  like  terrific  myths ; 
and  he  often  amused  himself  by  playing  upon  the  fears 
of  the  timid  and  credulous.     "    ;v5    ;j^     .'   v;;  ^s,'.    v  syi-' 

There  was  a  legend,  —  we  know  not  whether  there  was 
any  foundation  whatever  for  it,  —  that  in  the  days  of 
"  lang  syne  "  a  company  of  wild  youths  used  to  go  to  the 
Gaick  mountains,  in  Bademock,  about  twenty-four  miles 
from  Grantown,  every  year,  on  hunting  excursions. 
They  would  spend  several  days  and  nights  there,  sleep- 
ing in  a  stone  lodge  built  for  their  shelter.  On  a  certain 
night,  while  drinking  and  carousing,  away  from  all  re^ 
straint,  there  came  up  one  of  those  terrific  thunder-storms 
experienced  only  in  mountainous  regions.  The  lightning 
struck  the  lodge,  scattering  the  stones  of  which  it  was 
built,  and  leaving  only  a  blackened  ruin.  Every  one  of 
the  revellers  was  killed.  Their  friends,  after  waiting  in 
vain  for  their  return,  sought  them  in  their  retreat,  but 
found  only  their  disfigured  remains. 

Thenceforth  this  spot  became  a  terror  to  the  people  of 
the  region,  many  of  whom  firmly  believed  that  on  the 
anniversary  of  that  night  the  ghosts  of  the  doomed  rev- 
ellers came  and  danced  round  a  fire  among  the  ruins. 

Young  Dunbar  had  heard  this  stated  as  a  fact  from 


a 


.#■ 


DUKOAM  DUNBAB..     '^m'-^' 


tr. 


ir; 


■  f 


Bis  earliest  years,  and  wKen  about  sixteen  or  seventeen 
he  resolved  to  prove  the  stoiy  a  fiction.  He  induced 
two  or  three  yonng  companions  to  share  with  him  the  ad- 
venture and  the  glory;  for  it  took  stout  hearts  to  face 
ghosts  in  those  days.     -  *i -i.i   'fisTtf-""  ^^ 

Taking  their  guns  and  rimds,  and  filling  their  knap- 
sacks with  provisions,  ^W/  :  .*  <  iT  amid  the  tears  and  en- 
treaties of  their  fii  .mcl  >,  who  feared  they  would  be  spirited 
away  for  their  ioolharu;iiess.  After  a  long  and  weary 
tramp,  "  the  I  r  :<•  laddies  "  reached  the  haunted  ruin. 
They  built  a  fire  and  ate  their  supper;  and  after  a 
merry  evening  spent  in  singing,  and  conversation  spiced 
with  jokes  at  the  expense  of  the  ghosts,  they  wrapped 
themselves  in' their  plaids  and  lay  down  to  sleep.  Morn- 
ing broke  on  the  hills,  and  neither  ghost  nor  gobUn  had 
disturbed  them.  After  a  few  days'  sport,  they  returned 
home,  to  the  surprise  as  well  as  admiration  of  their 
friends,  and  exposed  the  fallacy    of  the   time-honored 

Like  excursions  were  made  to  the  Cairngorm  moun- 
tain^, in  search  of  the  agates  commonly  called  Scotch  peb- 
bles, many  of  which,  after  being  poUshed,  are  of  rare 
beauty.  But  it  was  the  wildness  and  danger  of  the  ad- 
ventures, more  than  the  ghosts  or  the  pebbles,  which  gave 
them  their  peculiar  charm.       ,.  »:    '  x- .. ; 

I;  h  very  pleasant  to  lind  in  these  youthful  sports  no 
emj;i.>,u3  of  cruelty  or  ill-nature,  but  many  proofs  of  the 
genial  spirit  and  benevolent  consideration  of  others  which 
marked  Mr.  Dunbar's  after  life.  He  seems  now  to  have 
been  well  satisfied  with  his  religious  state,  and  unconscious 
of  the  need  of  being  "  bom  again."  Indeed,  his  birth  in 
Bible-i-eading,  Sabbath-keeping  Scotland,  and  his  "bap- 
tism "  into  the  Kirk,  were  tantamount,  in  his  mind,  to  the 


RELU^ION  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS. 


9 


new  birth  spoken  of  in  Scripture.  The  community 
nrnnnH  him  Were  at  that  time  in  a  stat'^  of  spiritual  death. 
All  who  had  been  "  baptized  "  in  infancy,  who  had  learned 
the  Assembly's  Catechism,  ^nd  who  maintained  outward 
»norality,  were,  at  the  age  o:  eighteen,  admitted  to  the 
Lord's  Supper  and  received  inti^  %11  communion  with  the 
church.  Thus  every  member  o  society,  unless  openly 
profane,  impure,  or  dishont^t.  wa.  a  **  Christian ;  '*  in- 
deed, it  was  an  open  reproac  to  stand  oute^ide  the  fold. 
Thousands  who  were  t  nacio\  nf  t  e  tenets  and  forms 
of  the  church,  and  pharisaically  Si  ict  in  their  relig- 
ious observances,  lived  and  died  "  thout  experiencing  the 
power  )f  the  gospel  in  their  rts.  They  loved  the 
Kirk  with  the  same  patriotic  fe  with  which  the  Jews 
of  old  loved  Zion,  and  resented  an  innovations  upon  her 
polity  or  doctrines  as  heresy  men  g  the  severest  pun- 
ishment. 


'■  ill-',-. 


:r.-^/i^      .^4.3..;,,..      .(,.>, 


Jim  :^... 


.tV  -  '      V 


'** 


"-  -.1^'....    .'.'/i 


■1^:  n  --/i 


"    'i'y.     t'js/ftSj.  '*'(,. 


,   li.- .  ..A'-' 


.  .-•■ 

Mli^ 

<m 

^/m 

-'fr 

d,: 

%>; 

f^vi 

^'."''/ 

::>i"f$ik--.  s 

\' 

iNr. 

": 

•  v  >,=■".   . 

.■"-»-7; 

m^ 

■:>,-tr-f  ^'.-if:- 


if" 


m 
III 


CHAPTER  II. 


iMhlin  Holhtoah  "  -  Peneentlon  ft>r  Christ's  S«k«  •—  Peter  Orant  —  Sedrtng  after  Ck>d  — 
The  Laird  of  Grant  —  His  Justice  and  Generosity  —  The  AwaliLened  Soul  —  A  Blind 
Leader — Temptation  to  S'iicide  —  The  Deposed  Schoolmaster  —  Led  to  the  Cross  — 
Peace  in  Belieting. 


BOUT  this  time,  which  has  been  teirmed  "  the 
midnight  of  the  Church  of  Scotland,"  the  brothers 
Robert  and  James  Alexander  Haldane  experi- 
enced the  great  change  from  nature  to  grace. 
Henceforth  they  devoted  their  wealth  and  talents 
to  the  spread  of  evangelical  religion^  particularly 
in  their  native  Scotland.  For  this  purpose  they  took 
under  their  care  pious  young  men,  both  Baptists  and  In- 
dependents, to  train  for  missionary  work.  Among  these 
was  Mr.  Lachlin  Mcintosh,  a  friend  and  fellow-student 
of  the  late  honored  and  beloved  Rev.  Dr.  Maclay,  of 
New  York. 

It  was  the  custom  of  these  godly  men  to  make  tours 
themselves,  preaching  Christ  in  the  streets,  the  wopds,  or 
wherever  men  would  listen.  Their  hearts  were  touched 
for  Grantown  and  its  vicinity,  and  they  established  Mr. 
Mcintosh  there.  He  was  not  a  Baptist,  and  therefore  did 
not  arouse  the  enmity  of  the  Kirk  as  the  Haldanes  them- 
selves might  have  done  on  some  points.  But  he  pi'eached 
Christ  crucifit'd  without  asking  either  the  consent  or  the 
patronage  of  the  great.    Therefore  he  wa^  looked  upon  as  a 

heretic,  and  his  meetings  were  denounced  as  unlawful  cou- 
(10) 


PERSECUTION. 


11 


venticles.  A  course  of  systematic  persecution  was  imstituted 
against  the  good  man  and  his  little  flock,  and  only  the 
greater  light  of  the  age  prevented  their  being  hunted,  like 
the  Covenanters,  over  hill  and  muir. 

The  Laird  of  Grant  was  at  that  time  absent  on  the  con- 
tinent, but  there  were  not  wanting  men  to  acquaint  him 
with  the  bold  interference  of  the  zealous  nv  i  ;'ionary,  and 
the  disaffection  of  his  few  followers  toward  riie  Establish- 
ment. Of  course  he,  as  a  good  Presbyterian,  could  not 
countenance  such  disorderly  proceedings,  and  forbade 
Mr.  Mcintosh  to  preach  in  any  building  within  his  do- 
mains. This  ./as  enough  for  the  bigoted  partisans  who 
had  arrayed  themselves  against  the  evangelical  movement, 
and  they  annoyed  and  worried  this  servant  of  God  in  ways 
the  laird  would  never  have  countenanced.  He  was  not 
only  forbidden  to  preach  in  any  building  on  the  estate, 
but  the  people  were  threatened  not  to  harbor  him  in  their 
houses.  One  man  in  Grantown  was  actually  fined  heavily 
for  giving  a  night's  lodging  to  the  blessed  outcast. 

x'he  little  band  now  chose  a  grove,  close  by  the  house  of 
Mr.  Thomas  Dunbar,  as  their  sanctuary ;  and  not  a  little 
mirth  was  spent  on  them  and  their  worship.  The  boys  of 
the  region,  hearing  the  minister  and  his  views  ridiculed  at 
home,  felt  quite  at  liberty  to  make  his  meetings  a  place 
of  merriment  and  rude  sport ;  and  not  unfrequontly  did  the 
little  grove  resound  at  the  same  time  with  tlie  song  of 
praise  and  the  laughter  of  fools.  It  was  the  custom  of  some 
of  these  graceless  young  "  sons  of  the  clmrch  "  to  pelt  liiiii 
with  tufts  of  grass  and  other  missiles  while  his  eyes  wimo 
closed  in  prayer.  One  sucli  scene  made  a  deep  impression 
on  the  mind  of  Duncan  Dunbar.  While  Jie  man  of  God 
was  praying,  a  lad,  darting  from  behind  a  tree,  threw  an 
whicli  struck  him  in  the  forehead.     Mr.  Mcintosh 


12 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


raised  his  white  handkerchief,  and,  manifesting  not  the 
slightest  resentment,  wiped  away  all  traces  of  the  insult 
without  ever  ceasing  his  fervent  prayer. 

Among  the  youths  who  came  there  from  curiosity  was 
one  of  no  little  importance  among  his  fellows.  He  paid 
great  attention  to  his  personal  appearance,  and  was  looked 
up  to  as  the  leader  of  the  "  ton,"  among  t!'ie  striplings  of 
Grantown.  After  the  above-mentioned  insulting  attack 
on  the  unoffending  servant  of  God,  and  his  awfully  impres- 
sive prayer,  there  was  a  great  change  in  the  mien  of  Peter 
Grant.  Many  of  the  little  artifices  and  ornaments  which 
had  called  forth  the  admiration  of  his  associates  were  now 
missing.  His  merry  face  was  marked  with  great  solem- 
nity, and  his  once  mirthful  tongue  was  so  silent  as  to  call 
forth  the  surprise  of  all  who  knew  him.  The  spirit  of  God 
had  touched  him.  From  that  day  Peter  Grant  was  an 
Immble  and  devoted  follower  of  Christ,  and  it  was  hence- 
forth his  glory  to  mingle  in  that  lowly  band  as  a  brother 
in  tribulation.  At  these  services  in  the  grove,  Peter 
Grant  and  Duncan  Dunbar  first  met.  The  former,  several 
years  the  senior,  still  lives  to  mourn  the  loss  of  f  brother 
beloved  in  the  Lord.  He  is,  and  for  long  years  has  been, 
the  pastor  of  the  very  church  founded  by  Lachlin  Mcin- 
tosh, in  the  care  of  which  he  is  now  assisted  by  his  son, 
Rev.  William  Grant. 

Among  Mr.  Dunbar's  papers  we  find  the  following  in  a 
schoolboy  hand :  — 


"  I  now  removed  to  a  friend's  house  far  from  my  father's. 

Being  a  favori'e  of  the  minister  of  H ,  I  received 

from  him  the  loan  )f  two  books,  '  The  Spectator '  and  a 
volume  of  Tracts,  wherein  were  contained  anecdotes  of 
several  who  had  been  converted.     Their  experiences  were 


THE  LAIBD   Q;F  QfiANT. 


1<'#',aiii;-»«(i»36L. 


Ices  wero 


interesting,  I  having  never  heard  of  the  like  before.  I 
read  this  book  until  I  grew  in  love  with  the  peace  and  joy* 
which  seemed  to  possess  their  souls  when  they  left  their 
former  course  and  turned  to  God.  I  now  resolved  to 
watch  over  my  temper,  and  was  so  much  in  love  with 
virtue  that  I  sacrificed  many  of  my  pleasures ;  but  still  I 
was  uneasy.  By  and  by  thoughts  of  the  being  of  a  God 
occurred  to  my  mind,  and  I  began  reading  the  Bible.  I 
soon  became  convinced  that  I  was  a  great  sinner,  and 
must  immediately  repent."       j.j.  .    ^,Ms^^^thW^^mmm  . 

Then  follow  these  imperfect  notes,  never  meant  for 
another's  eye :  — 

;{•♦♦  Sermon  —  watch  and  pray  —  great  burden  —  over- 
come with  sleep  —  increasing  views  of  God's  holiness  — 
temptation  that  it  is  too  late  —  call  upon  minister  —  call 
again  —  fears  of  losing  my  soul  and  wish  that  1  had  never 
been  born  —  go  home  —  dreams  of  horror  —  see  my  great 
ignorance  —  know  not  what  the  gospel  is  —  feel  my  hard- 
ness of  heart  —  hear  of  my  brother's  illness,  and  wish  his 
place  were  mine  —  go  to  see  him  —  hear  of  Jesus'  love  — 
feel  some  wonder,  and  decide  it  is  no  use  to  try  —  read 
Pilgrim's  Progress  —  no  good." 

But  to  return  to  Mr.  Mcintosh.  The  Laird  of  Grant 
had  come  back  to  his  Highland  Castle,  and,  hearing  such 
contradictory  accounts  of  him,  generously  inquired  into 
the  merits  of  the  case.  While  Kirk  partisans  painted 
his  heresy  in  glowing  colors,  many,  who  had  no  sympatliy 
with  his  views,  gave  him,  in  justice,  a  kindly  word  ;  and 
his  own  adherents,  who  knew  him  better  than  either, 
spoke  of  his  forbearance,  his  zeal,  and  his  unfailing  kind- 
ness to  all  parties,  and  pointed  to  many,  who,  through  his 


\ 


u 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


influence,  had  been  drawn  from  open  sin,  and  were  now 
virtuous  and  godly  men.  - 

When  the  noble  laird  saw  that  Mr.  Mcintosh  had  been 
a  blessing  to  the  community,  rather  than  a  curse,  as  had 
been  represented,  he  resolved,  in  the  spirit  of  a  true  Scot- 
tish gentleman,  to  make  amends  to  him  and  his  little  flock 
for  the  persecution  they  had  suffered.  He  therefore  gi^ve 
them  land  on  which  to  build  a  chapel,  where  they  might 
worship  God  in  their  own  humble  way,  unmolested.  The 
light  that  godly  man  then  kindled  on  those  Scottish  hills 
has  never  been  quenched.  It  has  guided  many  souls  to 
God,  and  still  burns  on  brightly,  showing  the  path  to  the 
celestial  city. 

Young  Dunbar  had  long  been,  as  we  have  seen, 
absent  from  home,  and  probably  had  heard  nothing  of 
the  little  band  who  had  now  forsaken  the  grove,  by  his 
Other's  house,  for  their  own  chapel.  He  still  attended 
the  Kirk  service,  as  his  parents  were  rigid  adherents  of 
its  doctrines  and  forms.  His  mother,  however,  a  woman 
of  the  tenderest  sensibilities,  had  felt  a  strong  sympathy 
for  the  persecuted  Mcintosh,  and  he  well  remembered, 
after  having  himself  at  one  time  entertained  the  family  by 
an  account  of  **  the  sport  in  the  grove,"  her  taking  him 
aside  and  warning  him  solemnly  to  have  no  part  in  it, 
saying,  '*  This  is  a  man  of  God,  my  son ;  be  very  careful 
how  you  treat  him." 

He  was  now  at  home  again  and  about  eighteen  years  of 
age  ;  when,  from  what  immediate  cause  we  do  not  know, 
his  attention  was  turned  to  the  concerns  of  his  soul.  He 
grew  suddenly  sick  of  his  former  cherished  amusements, 
and  began  to  dread  the  faces  of  his  old  companions.  He 
was  restless  and  miserable.  He  know  not  what  ailed  him, 
nor  whither  to  fly  for  relief.     His  sins  rose  like  mountains, 


A  BLIND  LEADER. 


16 


were  now 


lave  seen, 


and  he  felt  the  wrath  of  God  abiding  on  him.  He  was  at 
last  brought  to  a  complete  stand.  Praying,  reading  the 
Bible,  and  forsaking  his  pleasures  gave  no  comfort.  He 
formed  a  resolution  bold  for  those  days,  —  to  lay  his  case 
before  the  minister,  believing  that  he,  if  any  one,  could 
heal  diseases  of  the  soul.  Trembling  with  the  awe 
which  the  Scottish  minister  of  that  time  inspired,  but 
over  which  the  young  of  our  day  and  country  have  more 
than  triumphed,  he  presented  himself  at  the  manse,  where, 
being  a  great  favorite,  he  had  so  often  been  honored  by  a 
smile  and  the  loan  of  a  book.  He  was  graciously  received, 
and,  after  much  fear  and  trembling,  succeeded  in  confessing 
his  burden  of  sin  and  portraying  his  anguish  on  account 
of  it ;  and  implored  the  minister  as  a  man  of  God  to 
point  him  to  the  path  of  peace.  It  seems  the  worthy 
man  was  not  taken  wholly  by  surprise,  for  rumor  had 
already  brought  to  him  the  suspicion  that  the  young  leader 
in  the  village  gayety  was  growing  melancholy  —  perhaps 
losing  his  mind.  So,  alfter  listening  patiently  for  some 
time,  he  said  soothingly,  '*  This  canna'  be,  Duncsm; 
ye  are  called  by  all  one  of  the  very  best  laddies  in 
Grantown.  Ye  are  ill,  my  young  friend,  and  your  mind 
has  taken  this  melancholy  turn." 

His  visitor  insisted  that  his  bodily  health  was  never 
better,  and  that  only  his  soul  was  sick. 
\  "  Now,  take  my  advice,  laddie,'*  said  the  old  man, 
kindly,  "  and  return  to  your  young  companions  and  your 
innocent  pleasures,  and  thus  throw  off  this  morbid  gloom. 
Otherwise  ye'll  surely  lose  your  reason.'* 

Young  Dunbar  told  him  that  the  very  thought  of 
those  companions  and  pleasures  and  the  hours  he  had 
wasted  with  them  were  as  arrows  to  his  sonl.  The 
minister  looked  pitifully  at  him   and   said,   *'  i   used  to 


\ 


16 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


hear  you  playing  the  Gennan  flute  in  the  garden ;  now 
try  that  again;  music  will  cheer  ye,  and  surely  <->"»»*° 
canna'  he  any  sin  in  a  flute."  ,     . -- ^^  :^.^^,,^^p, 

.<>-  But,  "  as  vinegar  to  the  teeth,  and  as  nitre  to  a  wouna, 
00  is  music  to  a  sorrowful  heart.'*  The  skill  of  the  physician 
■was  well-nigh  spent ;  hut  a  new  thought  now  struck  him. 
"  How  old  are  ye,  Duncan  ?  "  he  asked. 

':^  "  Nineteen." 

w  "  And  ye  have  never  partaken  of  the  sacrament  ?  ** 
*  "  Never."     . 

"  Well,  then,  the  cause  of  your  trouhle  is  quite  plain 
to  me.  Ye  are  the  son  of  worthy  Christian  parents, 
yourself  an  upright  lad,  hound  to  set  a  good  example  to 
your  companions.  Ye  have  heen  unfaithftil,  and  God  is 
frowning  on  ye.  At  the  next  sacrament  come  forward 
and  take  your  place  among  the  children  of  God,  and  after 
partaking  ye  will  he  at  peace,  I  think."  ,   i;*;/' 

At  But  alas,  it  was  in  vain  I  The  conscience,  roused  hy  the 
Spirit  of  God,  could  not  thus  bt  lulled  hack  to  its  carnal 
slumhers,  and  he  replied,  "  Oh,  sir,  I  could  never  dare 
to  do  that  I  A  sinner  under  the  wrath  of  God  and  rebelling 
against  his  justice,  to  sit  down  and  commemorate  his 
dying  love  among  his  children  I  He  would  surely  come 
out  in  sudden  judgment,  and  smite  me  at  his  table." 

After  a  little  reflection,  a  new  solution  of  the  mystery 
appeared  to  the  minister,  and,  in  a  solemn  tone,  he  said, 
looking  keenly  into  his  young  parishioner's  eye,  — 
"  Duncan,  my  lad,  ye  have  always  borne  a  good  name  in 
the  place,  and  been  a  great  favorite,  and  all  point  to  ye  as 
an  example  for  the  young.  But  I  fear,  from  your  present 
condition,  that  ye  have  deceived  us  all  I  Ye  must  have 
committed  some  awful  crime,  which  is  tormenting  your 
conscience  and  driving  ye  to  despair.     If  this  is  so,  ye  may 


TEMPTATION  TO  SUICIDE. 


confess  it  freely  to  me,  in  the  strictest  confidence,  iind  I 
will  still  be  your  friend.  What  ha'  ye  been  doing, 
laddie?" 

"  Nothing  in  all  my  Ufe,  sir,  that  I  would  not  be  willing 
my  parents  should  know.  It  is  the  sins  of  my  heart,  which 
none  but  God  can  see,  my  rebellion  against  him,  my  re« 
jeetion  of  Christ,  —  in  short,  my  exceeding  yileness  in 
his  sight,  which  makes  me  wish  I  had  never  been  bom  ! 
I  am  so  fiiU  of  sin  that  I  cannot  see  how  God  can  possibly 
pardon  me,  and  yet  remain  a  just  and  holy  Being."  The 
minister  shook  his  head  mournfully,  admitted  that  he  saw 
no  help,  and  dismissed  his  soul-stricken  guest  with  the 
cheering  assurance,  '*I  think  ye  are  losing  your  mind, 
laddie." 

Young  Dunbar  being  so  well  known  in  the  parish,  his 
state  of  mind  soon  became  a  subject  of  discussion,  and  not 
a  few  of  the  comments  on  it  reached  his  ear,  causing  him 
very  deep  distress.  A  dear  and  valued  friend  of  his  early 
life,  Mrs.  Mc Allan,  of  Aberdeen,  writes,  since  his  death  : 

"  You  must  have  heard  of  his  awful  state  of  mind  before 
he  obtair  peace  through  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.  He 
was  in  Montrose,  and  one  day  made  up  his  mind  to  com- 
mit suicide,  and  thus  put  an  end  to  his  suffering,  as  he 
in  his  desperation  thought ;  and  this  was  his  plan,  —  to 
run  along  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge,  and  then  drop 
down,  that  it  might  be  thought  an  accident,  as  he  was 
known  to  be  fond  of  deeds  of  daring  and  fearless  of  all 
danger." 

"  Failing  to  find  any  comfort  from  the  minister," 
writes  a  friend,  "  he  went  home,  feehng  as  if  he  should 
sink  into  the  earth,  and  saying  to  himself,  *  What  shall 
I  do,  and  whither  shall  I  flee  to  escape  the  vengeance  of  an 
angry  God.'    I  think  it  was  on  the  evening  of  that  very 

2* 


M     DUNCAN  DUNBAB     IT 


told  a  servant -^perhaps  thd  only  person 

listen  to  him  —  the  cause  of  his  trouble,  and 

her  the  danger  of  living  thus  exposed  to  death 

On  hearing  this,  and  witnessing  his  anguish  of 

spirit,  she  at  once  became  the  subject  of  like  convictions. 


He 

wepi 

a  family  andj 
would  lopku 
should  exdaijPdV 


ne] 


ts   I 


light  of  her  case  added  to  his  own,  and 
fix  W.  We  can  easily  imagine  how 
rhold,  unused  to  such  manifestations, 
em,^or  can  we  w<mder  that  they 
ure«  the  laddie's  daft.*" 
**  I  thinly,  w^^ay  conclude,"  continued  the  friend  re- 
ferred to,  "^atthen  and  there  commenced  his  life-work  of 
awakenthg,  instrumentally,  the  careless,  and  winning  souls 
to  Christ."      oti 

While  in  this  state  of  mental  agony,  he  heard  that  a 
neighbor  liip,^^;;>fi^d,    "  Duncan  Dunbar  is  going  crazy 

,  the  schoolmaster,  in  the  mountains, 
ithej  same  way,  talking  about  his  being  a 
fhitfi  everybody  knew  was  not  true,  and 
^png,  and  praying  for  a  long  time;  and 
^L^ilange,  when  he  did  nothing  but  sing  and 
reach  to  everybody  who  would  listen  to  him. 
5urse  the  minbter  could  not  countenance  such  irregu- 
lar conduct,  and  the  parish  school  was  taken  from  him,  and 
now  he  lives  in  great  poverty  in  the  mountains  ;  but 
he  talks  and  sings,  preaches  and  prays,  all  the  same,  as 
happy  as  a  king." 

These  words  opened  a  door  of  hope.  One  soul,  at 
least,  had  been  in  Uiese  bonds  and  was  set  free  ;  and  who 
could  tell  but  that  he  also  might  yet  be  forgiven  and  saved  ? 
He  at  once  resolved  to  pay  a  secret  visit  to  the  deposed 
schoolmaster.  One  Sabbath  morning,  before  the  family 
were  astir,  he  left  the  house  noiselessly  and  commenced 


Uk!»vol^.>Jft: 
^  He  was  taken 
/great  sipner, 
,  :  fljomrtiing, ' 

J/>jjfcen 


THE  Dia>08ED  SCHOOLMASTEB. 


19 


same,  a  a 


his  walk  of  several  miles,  in  the  gray  dawn.  After  some 
hours  he  reached  a  group  of  cottages  c^  the  very  humblest 
class  ever  occupied  by  Scottish  peasants,  and  inquired  for 

James .      The    one  low  door  of   the  building  was 

ajar,  and,  as  he  stood  before  it,  a  sOng  of  praise  and 
gladness  broke  the  stillness  of  the  Sabbath  air.  When  that 
ceased,  the  voice  of  prayer  rose  so  clear  and  calm  that  he 
felt  it  was  entering  the  ear  of  Heaven.  It  was  hke  music 
to  his  soul,  for  the  confessions  as  well  as  the  desires  were 
his  own.  After  the  fervent  "  Amen,"  he  tapped  at  the 
door  which  led  to  the  one  apartment,  and  a  kind  voice 
bade  him  **  come  in."  He  entered,  and  stood  before  a 
gentleman,  such  as  one  would  not  expect  to  meet  in  so 
poor  a  place.       -         v  =  -.;    ^    4>!i-;^i«*ift» 

In  Scotland,  the  parish  schoolmaster  is  no  ordinary  man, 
but  always  a  thorough-bred  soholar,  and  usually  a  gentle- 
man. In  most  cases  such  are  educated  for  the  ministry, 
and,  either  choosing  to  teach,  or  failing  to  get  the  gift  of  a 
living,  take  this  position,  second  in  importance  only  to  the 
minister's.  In  most  of  the  rural  villages  of  that  noble  land 
young  men  can  be  iitted  for  college  in  the  parish  school 
as  well  as  in  a  collegiate  academy,  for  only  men  who  are 
qualified  to  do  this  are  ever  appointed  to  the  place.  ?,v;.,^  , 

Addressing  his  host,  the  visitor  said,  *'•  I'm  a  stranger  to 
you,  sir,  and  have  come  for  a  little  advice." 

Giving  him  a  cordial  greeting  and  seating  him,  the  old 
man  said,  "  Ye  are  very  welcome,  laddie,  to  our  poor 
home.  If  it's  business  that  brings  ye,  ye  must  abide  till 
tlie  morrow,  for  we  do  none  on  the  Lord's  day." 

The  young  stranger  then  opened  his  heart  and  told  his 
errand,  while  tears  ran  freely  down  the  old  man's  cheeks. 
When  the  tale  was  ended,  he  turned  to  his  wife  saying, 
*'  Here  you  see  an   answer   to  our  prayers  ;  I  was  one 


20 


DUNCAN  DX7NBAR. 


;-if.>  r 


'Ai'^jr^ttX.- 


year,"  he  said,  "  praying  for  the  soul  of  my  wife,  and  T*hen 
God  gave  me  that,  we  joined  together  in  pleading  for  one 
soul  more." 

Here,  in  this  humble  abode,  the  troubled  one  was  pointed 
to  Christ  as  the  only  way  of  life,  and  warned  not  to  make 
a  saviour  of  his  prayers,  his  efforts,  his  tears,  or  even  of  his 
deep  convictions;  and  the  way  to  heaven  by  the  cross, 
without  *^  the  deeds  of  the  law,"  was  made  plain  to  his 
mind. 

He  was  now  informed  that  the  worthy  couple  were 
wont  to  walk  several  miles  over  the  heath-covered  hills 
to  meijt  a  few  disciples,  of  kindred  spirit,  for  worship. 
Forgetting  the  weariness  of  the  way  he  had  already 
come,  he  gladly  accepted  their  invitation  to  accompany 
them  thither.  They  were  Independents,  answering  to  the 
Congregationalists  of  New  England.  Among  them  and 
on  his  way  home,  his  soul  was  filled  to  overflowing  with 
tbt  peace  of  God  and  the  joy  of  forgiveness.  The  change 
was  truly  from  darkness  to  light,  and  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  filled  his  soul  as  fiilly  as  terror  had  done  before. 
**  Shortly  after  he  found  peace,"  writes  an  honored  friend, 
"he  saw  his  former  minister,  with  whom  he  was  still  a 
favorite.  He  entreated  Duncan  not  to  leave  the  Estab- 
lished Ghurch,  but  to  stand  by  him,  and  to  induce  others 
to  do  so  likewise ;  telling  him  that  he  might  teach  and  even 
preach  to  the  people,  but  not  to  leave  them  1 "  Then 
Duncan  took  the  bold  step  to  say  "that  there  was  a 
little  band  of  people  here  who  feared  God,  with  whom  he 
now  intended  to  worship."  However  little  he  may  have 
seen  or  known  of  Mr.  Mcintosh's  church  after  they  wor- 
shipped in  the  glen,  he  now  discovered  the  sympathy  there 
was  between  himself  and  them,  and,  like  Peter  when  re- 
leased from  prison,  he  went  to  his  own  company. 


•.'^M>" 


.yv?* 


-A«,.     CHAPTER  in..  v»Av-  ,.^;/^44»of*?:v^vt.. 


/kspirationB  ftr  a  Mllltaiy  life  —  BesidenM  in  Aberdeen — Marriage  —  Labon  aa  a  Lay* 
man  —  Thoaght8  on  Obrlstian  Baptism  —  Desires  fbr  ^der  Useflilness  —  Saila  fbt 
America  —  (low  State  of  Krangelical  Religion  in  the  British  Prorineea  —  His  Laboia 
in  New  Brunswick  and  their  Results  —  Oall  to  Ordination  by  an  Independml 
Church  —  Increased  Trials  on  the  Mode  and  Sul^ta  of  Baptism  —  Immersion  and 

-<-    Ordination  —  Settlement  In  St.  George— Labors  ftr  the  Blacks  and  Indians— Jonmal. 

)0T  long  after  his  conversion,  young  Dunbar  went 
to  the  academy  connected  with  the  Edinboro*  Uni- 
versity, where  he  remained  a  considerable  time. 
Wo/    On  leaving  school,  his  great  desire  was  to  enter  the 

f*     army ;  and  a  relative,  Major  Dunbar,  and  other  in- 
:<■  fluential  friends,  promised  to  get  him  a  commission. 

While  waiting  for  this  he  left  home  on  a  hunting 
expedition  to  the  Lowlands.  At  Arbroath  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Mr.  Penman,  a  dissenting  minister  of 
the  Relief  church,  whose  views  accorded  with  his  own 
and  by  whose  preaching  he  was  much  edified.  He 
invited  him  most  cordially  to  his  house,  where  he  en- 
joyed true  Christian  fellowship.  On  his  leaving,  Mr. 
Penman,  finding  he  was  going  to  Brechin,  asked  him  to 
deliver  a  letter  for  Mrs.  Penman  ■  o  a,  young  member  of  his 
church,  who,  with  her  widowe^i  mother  and  a  sister,  had 
recently  removed  there.  He  d  d  so ;  and  the  acquaintance 
thus  formed  resulted  in  his  marriage  to  the  lady  to  whom 
he  bore  the  letter,  —  Miss  Chrif  tina  Mitchel  j  an  event  than 
which  no  other  proved  more  clearly  God's  kindness  to  him 
personalty,  or  conduced  more  to  his  success  as  a  minister 
of  the  gospel.     Her  gentle,  loving  nature,  and  her  deep, 

(21) 


22 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


earnest  piety,  made  her  unobtrusive  life  one  long  and  beau* 
tiliil  walk  with  God. 

After  this  little  tour,  Mr.  Dunbar  returned  to  his  High- 
land home.  Just  then  the  victory  at  Waterloo  put  an  end 
to  hostilities,  and  there  was  no  more  call  for  officers  or 
men.  He  therefore  went  into  business  in  Aberdeen,  and 
soon  after  married.  He  remained  several  years  in  this 
city,  ardent  and  zealous  as  a  Christian,  and  preaching  as  a 
layman  when  opportunity  offered.  Feeling  a  deep  interest 
in  the  truth  of  God,  and  being  an  earnest  student  of  the 
Scriptures,  his  attention  was  now  called  to  the  mode  and 
subjects  of  baptism.  He  was  not  acquainted  with  one  peN 
Eon  holding  the  views  he  afterward  adopted,  and  his  trials 
and  subsequent  decision  were  wholly  the  result  of  read- 
ing the  New  Testament.  '  "  -  . 

Having  a  strong  desire  for  wider  useftilness,  Mr.  Dunbar 
now  resolved  to  visit  America.  He  left  his  native  land  in 
June,  1817,  and,  as  a  rebuke  to  the  impatient  spirit  which 
in  our  time  can  hardly  brook  ten  days  on  the  voyage,  we  in- 
sert the  following  from  his  meagre  journal  kept  during  that 
time: —  /.■>--- 

**  I  left  Scotland  for  America,  June  5th,  1817,  Sabbath, 
in  the  ship  *  Minerva,'  Capt.  Strachan,  who  treated  me 
with  very  great  kindness.  Sailed  from  Aberdeen.  In  a 
fortnight,  anchored  in  Thurso  Bay  to  wait  for  passengers. 
Went  on  shore.  In  ten  days  sailed  for  Fort  William. 
Narrow  escape  from  being  upset  in  a  squall  while  running 
ip  the  narrow  strait  called  *  The  Sound  of  Mull.*  At  Fort 
William  staid  several  days.  Took  in  ten  passengers,  among 
them  Capt.  Alexander  Chisholm,  late  of  the  African  Corps, 
several  years  in  Africa ;  also  a  young  priest  and  several 
other  Roman  Catholics.     Here  often  went  on  shore ;  re- 


'•m 


LABORS  IN  NEW  BRUNSWICK. 


oeived  a  letter  to  James  Fraser,  Esq.,  Halifax,  to  ifvhicli,  as 
a  means  in  the  hand  of  Providence,  I  owe  more  than  aU 
the  others."         y  ,•.;./  fJ^irm^^^'Vir•m^<^ii^imi^'■'■y^i^■'' 

Having  arrived  in  America,  he  proceeded  to  the  British 
Province  of  New  Brunswick.  We  give  an  extract  of  a 
letter  from  an  esteemed  friend  in  Eastport: — **'*"'^''      •««■ 

"  My  mother  can  distinctly  rememher  his  telling  her  the 
trials  of  his  mind  about  coming  to  America.  He  believed 
that  his  Master  had  a  work  for  him  to  do  on  this  conti- 
nent; and  when  he  landed  in  Eastport  he  felt  that  he  had 
come  to  the  wrong  place,  and  so  did  not  stop  here,  but  . 
passed  on  to  St.  Andrews,  where  the  same  feeling  took 
possession  of  his  mind.  From  that  place  he  went  to  St. 
George,  and,  in  his  own  words,  when  he  first  set  foot 
on  that  soil  he  felt,  'This  is  the  place;  I  am  where  I 
should  be.'"     .  :,  ..   .  .  A, 

Here  Mr.  Dunbar  was  received  with  the  warmth  and 
cordiality  which  awaited  him  wherever  he  went.  His  heart 
was  full  of  the  work  which  had  brought  him  over  the  ; 
sea.  For  a  short  season  he  devoted  himself  to  teach< 
ing  in  St.  George,  his  evenings  being  much  occupied  in 
preaching  in  the  village  and  vicinity.  Numbers  (£  his 
scholars  were  hopefully  converted.  Though  not  yet  or- 
dained as  a  minister,  he  felt  constrained  to  speak  to  his 
'ellow-men  of  the  great  truths  of  the  gospel,  which  so 
powerfriUy  impressed  his  own  mind,  as  he  had  previously 
done,  to  some  extent,  in  his  own  coi  itry.  His  labors  in 
this  respect  were  incessant,  and  characterized  by  the  same  , 
ardent  zeal  which  marke'^  his  ministry  in  later  years. 

A  lady,  now  resident  n  the  States,  remarked  to  the 
writer  that  some  of  the  people  thought  him  **  eccentric,'* 
which  may  be  explained  by  the  wide  contrast  between  hit 


m 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


own  flaming  zeal  and  the  spiritual  deadness^  which  at  thai 
time  generally  prevailed  in  the  Province.  w   i..,, 

While  residing  in  St.  George,  Mr.  Dunbar  made  occa 
sional  visits  to  St.  Andrews  and  other  places,  spending  a 
week  or  fortnight  at  a  time  in  visiting  and  preaching.  On 
such  occasions  he  was  her  mother's  guest,  and  she  dis- 
tinctly remembers  his  prayers  in  the  &mily  as  being  pecu- 
lianly  fervent  and  impressive.  Once,  she  said,  it  seemed 
to  them  that  the  very  floor  shook  under  them  as  they  were 
kneeling,  so  intense  were  his  pleadings  for  the  impenitent. 
The  impression  then  made  upon  her  youthful  mind  was 
never  efl&,ced. 

Mr.  Dunbar's  visits  to  St.  Andrews  were  very  annoying 
to  the  Church  of  England  clergyman,  a  Mr.  Mircy,  who, 
writes  a  friend,  "  threatened  to  imprison  him  for  preach- 
ing sectarian  doctrines,  until  a  Mr.  McMaster,  a  Scotch 
Presbvterian  minister,  told  him  it  would  be  the  dearest 
thing  that  he  ever  did." 

A  pamphlet  of  one  hundred  pages,  "  A  Concise  View 
of  the  Origin  and  Principles  of  the  Several  Religious 
Denominations  Existing]  at  present  in  the  Province  of 
New  Brunswick,  by  the  Rev.  D.  Dunbar,  1819,"  con- 
tains the  following  allusions  to  the  reverend  persecutor : 
"  Episcopacy  is  established  by  law  in  the  Province  of 
New  Brunswick  ;  and,  although  dissenters  are  tolerated, 
they  are  in  no  wise  allowed  any  help  from  the  Provinee 
treasury  to  build  places  of  worship.  That  public  purse, 
however  (which  undoubtedly  belongs  to  dissenters  as 
well  as  churchmen),  is  always  open  when  one,  two,  or 
three  hundred  pounds  are  wanted  by  a  few  individuals,  in 
any  part  of  the  province,  to  build  an  Episcopal  church. 
This  partiality  is  not  to  be  ascribed  to  any  defect  in  the 
established  laws  of  the  Province,  but  proceeds  from  the 


I  M^Uf. 


CHBISTIAN   BAPTISM. 


25 


which  at  that 


management  of  afl&irs  in  the  House  of  Assembly,  —  a  mat- 
ter which  dissenters  will,  no  doubt,  keep  in  view  at  the 
next  general  election.  The  lukewarm  indifference  of  the 
chur<^  clergy  has  opened  the  eyes  of  many  already  ;  and 
Providence  seems  to  have  sent  one  gentleman  of  that 
order  (in  mercy)^  to  the  county  of  Charlotte,  who,  if 
spared,  will  soon  unmask  himself  and  Jm  brethren.  He 
is  likely  to  make  more  dissenters  in  one  month  than  all 
the  *  sectarian '  ministers  in  the  province  have  made  for 
years.'* 

Mr.  Dunbar's  sphere  of  labor  becoming  ext'>nded,  and 
his  zeal  and  success  attracting  much  attention,  the  Inde- 
pendent Church  in  Sheffield,  N.  B.,  invited  him  to  be- 
come its  pastor ;  which  invitation  he  accepted  to  the  ex- 
tent of  preaching  to  them,  without  administering  the  ordi- 
nances. The  church  were  desirous  that  be  should  be  or- 
dained, and  wrote  him,  while  he  was  staying  for  a  time 
in  St.  John,  expressing  their  dissatisfaction  cit  his  delay. 
From  his  reply,  we  learn  that  this  arose  from  his  having 
the  subject  of  baptism  under  serious  examination.  But 
he  expected  ere  long  to  arrive  at  a  decision,  and  more  than 
hinted  at  the  result.  At  length  his  mind  found  rest  in 
the  scriptural  doctrine  of  believers'  baptism,  and  ho  was 
immersed  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Griffin,  of  St.  John,  in  the 
harbor  of  that  city,  October  31,  1818,  in  company  with 
Mr.  (now  Rev.)  J.  Bunting  and  others.  He  was  ordained 
at  that  time  or  immediately  afler. 

It  is  interesting  to  know  that  about  this  time  Mr.  Mc- 
intosh and  his  whole  church  in  Grantown  became  Bap- 
tists, and  pastor  and  people  were  immersed  in  one  day ; 
and  there  a  numerous  band  are  still  bearing  their  testimony 
to  the  primitive  simplicity  of  this  significant  ordinance. 

Mr.  Dunbar's  change  of  views  on  this  subject  did  not 


'V*^^'"' 


26 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


lose  him  either  the  esteem  or  confidence  of  his  brethren 
of  other  denominations.  The  church  in  Sheffield  com- 
missioned him,  when  leaving  for  Scotland  the  next 
spring,  to  procure  for  them  a  pastor,  which ,  he  did  to 
their  satisfaction.  •     '     '^    "•     '   j  •  u.'.ii'     .*  / 

After  this,  Mr.  Dunbar  preached  in  various  places, 
chiefly  in  St.  George,  where  he  became  pastor  of  the 
Baptist  church.  •  n 

"  The  original  church,"  writes  a  friend,  "  had  nearly 
lost  its  visibility,  and  its  members  were  hke  the  church  in 
Sardis ;  but  your  father,  afler  his  change  of  sentiments, 
called  them  together  and  told  them  he  had  a  call  from  St. 
Davids  ;  but  if  even  ten  of  them  would  unite  and  form  a 
new  church,  Jie  would  stop  with  them,  even  though  he 
should  have  to  live  in  the  most  frugal  manner  with  bare- 
ly the  necessaries  of  life.  He  did  stay ;  and  there  was 
such  an  outpouring  of  the  Holy  Spirit  as  is  seldom  seen ; 
and  most  who  came  into  the  church  at  tha^  time  were 
men  of  earnest,  heartfelt  piety." 

From  the  journal  which  follows,  some  idea  may  be 
formed  of  his  labors  in  this  place  and  elsewhere.  It  also 
shows  how  his  heart  was  affected  by  the  religious  destitu- 
tion of  the  region,  and  how  much  he  was  interested  in  the 
formation  of  a  missionary  society  for  the  evangelization 
of  the  Province,  including  tliC  Blacks  and  Indians. 

"  Sabbath^  March  14.  Was  very  earnest  with  God 
this  morning  for  the  help  of  his  Spirit  to  give  me  a  clear 
view  of  the  doctrine  of  internal  grace  and  the  Spirit's 
work  upon  the  hearts  of  his  people,  and  particularly  be- 
cause the  very  foundation  of  this  essential  truth  is  at- 
tacked by  Mr. *8  new  notions,  which  seem  to  be  gain- 
ing ground.  Was  much  straitened  until  a  few  minute<4 
before  I  entered  the  pulpit.      Read  one  chapter  of  1st 


LABORS  FOR  THE  BLACKS,  ETC. 


27 


John,  and,  in  connection,  lectured  from  fifty-first  Psalm. 
1  can  truly  say  that  the  Lord  heard  and  helped  me. 
From  these  portions  of  Scripture  I  was  enabled  to  show 
the  necessity  of  feeling  a  lively  sense  of  our  daily  sins, 
and  of  confessing  them  to  God,  praying  for  his  Spirit  to 
apply  the  cleansing  influence  of  the  blood  of  Christ  to  our 
guilty  consciences.         ...... 

"  In  the  evening,  preached  to  the  black  people,  at  the 
house  of  Mrs.  S.,  from  Isaiah  xli.  9 : '  Thou  whom  I  have 
taken  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  called  thee  from  the 
chief  men  thereof,  and  said  unto  thee.  Thou  art  my  ser- 
vant ;  I  have  chosen  thee,  and  not  cast  thee  away.' 
Found  great  comfort  in  my  own  mind.  Many  of  the 
poor  blacks  attended,  and  some  were  in  tears.  En- 
couraged them  with  the  prospect  of  an  African  church, 
and  appointed  another  meeting  for  them  to-morrow  even- 
ing  .*••... 

"Spoke  to  the  black   people   again  from  I'John  iii. : 

*  Behold  what  manner  of  love  the  Father  hath  bestowed 
upon  us,  that  we  should  be  called  the  sons  of  God  I  * 
Having  given  liberty  to  any  who  might  wish  to  speak,  a 
poor  negro  woman  rose  and  declared  that  she  had  come 
five  miles  the  day  before  to  seek  the  Lord,  in  consequence 
of  a  strong  impression  on  her  mind.  While  speaking  to 
her  of  the  love  of  God  and  of  the  blood  of  Christ  as  the 
only  sure  foundation  to  rest  upon,  and  of  the  great  dan- 
ger of  delusion,  she  fainted  away. 

"  Strong  prejudice  against  the  blacks  in  St.  John.  But 
why  all  this?     Oh,  wicked  heart  I         »     -  . 

"  I  think  of  establishing  a  missionary  residence,  for  In- 
dians or  Blacks,  where  ministers  may  spend  one  month 
each  to  labor  with  and  improve  them ;  the  only  way  to 
j  clear  expenses  and  make  thom  independent." 


28 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


Thus  was  his  great  heart  ever  beating  with  pity  for 
those  who  had  no  helper,  compassionate  toward  the  sor- 
rowful and  outcast. 

"  Strong  in  feith  when  I  awoke,  to  speak  from  Matt. 
XXV.  39,  40.  After  breakfast  and  a  solitary  walk  by  the 
seaside,  went  to  church  and  spoke  from  the  above  words. 
The  Lord  helped  me.  Thought  how  many  there  were  of 
God's  people  in  this  Province  who  were  spiritually  hun- 
gry and  thirsty  and  naked,  and  recommended  missionary 
efforts  to  Christians.  Proposed  a  collection  for  that  pur- 
pose and  promised  to  preach  to  the  young  people  in  the 
evening.     '  .  ■:  •     ./ 

**  Did  so,  and  was  much  helped  in  my  exhortation  to  them 
to  share  their  privileges  with  others  and  proposed  to  them 
to  unite  in  a  society.  Preached  from  Acts  xvi. :  *  Men 
of  Macedonia,'  &c.  How  many  in  this  very  province 
wanted  help,  &c.  One  rich  prof  easor  went  out  of  the  meet- 
ing when  1  spoke  of  the  iron  chesty  and  Juda^  hag  ! 
.  **  Sabbath.  I  find  it  good  for  a  minister  not  to  take 
notice  of  every  seeming,  or  even  real,  neglect.  While 
sick,  some,  of  whom  I  hoped ,  much,  came  not  to  see 
me,  but  in  church  I  took  occasion  to  speak  kindly  to  them, 
taking  no  notice  of  anything.  This  seemed  to  gain,  &c. 
They  appeared  conscious  of  the  neglect,  and  acknowledged 
it.  I  said  all  was  well.  They  kindly  invited  me  to  their 
houses.  May  the  Lord  give  me  *  the  wisdom  of  the  ser- 
pent,' &c. 

*^  I  visited  several  families,  and  overcame  my  usual  diffi- 
dence so  far  as  to  speak  something  in  every  place,  and 
found  it  profitable  for  myself.  Lord,  in  my  zeal  for  thy 
cause  let  me  speak  thou^^  kings  should  hear. 

"  I  give  tliee  my  soul  this  night,  dear  Saviour ;  acc^,pt 
and  keep  it." 


mth  pity  for 
ird  the  sor- 


■..,-    J  ■  I  ■ 


from  Matt, 
walk  by  the 
ibove  words, 
lere  were  of 
itually  hun- 
1  missionary 
)r  that  pur- 
eople  in  the 

ation  to  them 
osed  to  them 
Kvi. :  *  Men 
jry  province 
of  the  meet- 
bag! 

not  to  take 
bet.  While 
not  to  see 
ly  to  them, 
o  gain,  &c. 
cnowledged 
me  to  their 
of  the  ser- 

usual  diffi- 
place,  and 
eal  for  thy 

lur;  acivpt 


CHAPTER  IV. 


ti 


rornutlon  of  the  New  Brnnswick  E?aiigelical  Society  —  SiOb  for  Great  Britain  --  Jour- 
nal —  Arrival  in  Glasgow  —  Hindrance  in  Iili  Work— Kind  Beception  and  Syiapwaiy 
from  Dr.  Chalmers,  &c.  —  Journal  —  Letter.  .^         .      ^ 

m  the  spring  of  the  year  1819,  a  society  was  consti- 
tuted under  the  name  of "  The  Evangelical  Society 
of  New  Brunswick,"  embracing  three  religious  de- 
nominations, and  numbering  among  its  supporters 
some  of  the  most  eminent  Christian  men  in  the 
Province. 

It  was  deemed  advisable  that  Mr.  Dunbar  should  visit 
Great  Britain  in  behalf  of  the  Society,  to  obtain  funds 
and  missionaries. 

He  accordingly  sailed  from  St.  John  in  the  "  Marcus 
Hill,"  June  19, 1819. 

From  a  journal  which  he  kept  at  this  time  we  make  a 
few  selections:  — 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

"  Wednesday  J  June  19,  1819.  Arrived  at  St.  John. 
In  afternoon  went  on  board  with  my  black  boy.  I  desire 
to  be  useful  on  board  this  ship.  I  pray  that  God  may  give 
me  zeal  and  also  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  captain  that  I 
may  have  access  to  the  crew.  ' 

•  •  ■#    '  '  #  e  t  • 

"  Sunday.  In  the  morning  great  desire  to  have  my  heart 
softened  with  love  to  the  perishing  souls  of  the  many  around 
me  in  this  ship,  but  feel  it  as  hard  as  adamant ;  was,  how- 
ever,  determined    to  follow   duty,   and   consequently   at 

3*  (28) 


^ 


\ 


80 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


V] 


twelve,  having  obtained  the  captain's  consent,  all  hands 
were  mustered  on  the  quarter-deck.  All  were  silent  and 
attentive.  Read  and  sung  part  of  a  hymn,  prayed  and  ex- 
pounded. Was  very  languid  in  my  own  mind,  and  had 
no  great  freedom  of  4q>eech.  Oh  that  God's  Holy  Spirit  • 
might  follow  what  has  been  imperfectly  said,  that  the 
name  of  Jesus  might  be  glorified,  and  at  least  one  poor 
soul  be  released  from  bondage. 

**  May  God  give  me  wisdom,  that  I  may  know  how  to  be 
all  things  to  all  men  1  4;*  *»?  i^v-  ,     «  -- 

"\  **  Administered  some  medicine  to  two  sick  men  on  board. 

'*  Monday,  Beautiful  day,  but  no  wind.  Felt  grieved 
to  hear  the  cr^w  swear  and  blaspheme,  and  spoke  plainly 
to  one  K.,  from  Greenock.  He  acknowledged  his  wrong 
and  was  thankfrd  for  the  adjaonition.  Spoke  much  to 
another,  who  has  been  sick  for  some  time  and  is  recovering. 
He  confessed  hia  having  some  serious  thoughts  while  con- 
fined, and  this  was  ground  for  my  entering  into  serious 
conversation  with  him.  Encouraged  by  having  embraced 
such  an  opportunity.  Many  suggestions  to  my  mind :  *  You 
are  only  a  passenger ;  you  need  not  care  for  those  on  board ; 
if  you  can  conduct  so  that  none  can  charge  you  with  any- 
thing unbecoming  your  profession,  that  is  all  that  can  be 
expected,'  &c. 

"  If  the  Lord  will,  I  resolve  to  devote  every  Monday  to 
reading,  and  conversing,  where  op^iortunity  occurs,  with 
the  crew ;  and  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thursday,  Friday, 
to  writing ;  Saturday  to  self-examination,  and  prayer  for 
a  blessing  on  the  approaching  Sabbath. 

**  Oh  that  I  could  live  alone  to  God  I    I  have  thought 
to-day  that  I  did  not  love  at  all,  and  I  fear  that  thought 
is  true.     Oh  for  grace  to  conquer  my  old  nature  I 
"!  **  At  evening  I  took  up  Watts's  Hymn  Book,  and  while 


JOURNAL. 


81 


reading  several  hymns,  I  did  sensibly  expenence  in  my  soul 
a  degree  of  love  to  the  Saviour,  and  could  have  given  the 
whole  world  that  my  love  were  stronger,  my  evidence 
clearer,  my  fidth  more  active,  my  corruption  subdued.  It 
came  forcibly  into  my  mind  that  this  comfortable  frame 
must  have  been  produced  by  the  Holy  Spirit  and  that  it 
was  an  answer  to  prayer,  for  I  was  praying  in  the  morn- 
ing for  this  very  thing.  I  think,  while  in  such  a  frame, 
how  glad  would  I  be  to  have  an  opportunity  of  preaching 
the  gospel  to  thousands.  Oh  that  my  dear  Saviour  would 
manifest  his  love  to  my  benighted  soul  I  Oh  that  my 
dear  wife  were  present  to  share  in  my  joysl 

^*  Monday/,  Nothing  interesting  during  the  last  week ;  al- 
most a  perfect  calm,  and  my  patience  truly  put  to  the  test, 
as  my  desires  for  a  quick  passage  are  very  great  and  my 
hopes  extremely  sanguine ;  but  the  Governor  of  seas  shall 
do  his  pleasure,  and  he  knows  what  is  best  for  his 
creatures.  May  I  be  enabled  to  say  from  the  heart,  *■  Thy 
will  be  done,  whatever  betide.' 

^*  Oh,  how  hard  to  bring  an  ungrateful  heart  to  a  fixed 
confidence  in  God,  to  a  sense  of  his  love,  to  a  hatred  of 
sin,  to  a  pure  love  of  holiness  !  ^' 

"  Swnday*  Crew  assembled  at  twelve  o'clock  ;  preached  ; 
great  atlciicn  for  an  hour  and  ahalf.  While  I  sang,  prayed, 
and  read  from  the  second  to  the  thirty-first  verses  of  Prov.  i., 
and  discoursed  from  Gen.  xxii.  10,  I  was  encouraged  to 
hope  the  Lord  would  bless  his  word  to  »"^me.  How  should  1 
feol  encouraged  was  God  to  manifest  his  love  to  any  of 
these  poor  outcasts  I  1  was  earnest  with  my  Saviour  in 
the  morning,  that  I  might  be  helped  to  speak  and  feel  a 
sense  of  the  worth  of  their  souls.  In  some  measure, 
I  trust,  he  heard  me. 

*'  The  captain  himself  was  very  attentive,  and  as  he  has 


82 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


been  reading  the  life  of  Col.  Gardiner,  wliich  I  gave  him 
a  day  or  two  before,  I  took  occasion  to  speak  with  him 
freely  afler  dinner  while  walking  together  on  the  quarter^ 
deck." 

Mr.  D.  reached  Glasgow,  August,  1819.  While  here, 
he  was  the  welcome  guest  of  Donald  Macdonald,  Esq. ; 
and  the  friendship  between  them  was  only  interrupted  by 
the  death  of  the  former.  Immediately-  on  his  arrival  in 
Scotland,  Mr.  D.  commenced  his  labors  in  behalf  of  the 
Missionary  Society.  His  having  become  a  Baptist  now 
raised  a  serious  obstacle  in  the  way  of  his  mission.  A  Mr. 
'*'W.,  who  had  gone  to  New  Brunswick  from  Ireland,  en- 
deavored to  undermine  his  influence,  by  writing  to  Dr. 
Chalmers  and  other  clergymen  of  the  Presbyterian  Church 
in  Glasgow,  that  Mr.  l).'s  purpose  was  to  raise  funds 
*^  for  making  schism  in  the  church  already  established  in 
the  Province." 

The  subject  was  investigated  by  several  Presbyterian 
ministers,  particularly  by  Dr.  Love,  Dr.  Burns,  and  Dr. 
Chalmers  and  others,  of  Glasgow,  all  of  whom  warmly  sym- 
pathized with  Mr.  D.  in  these  trying  circumstances  ;  and 
the  result  was  a  most  hearty  endorsement  of  him  by  these 
distinguished  men,  as  a  devoted  minister  of  Christ,  and  of 
his  work  as  eminently  important. 

With  these  credentials  he  resumed  his  labors  for  the 
Society,  visiting  various  parts  of  Scotland,  England,  and 
Ireland,  and  meeting  with  very  encouraging  success.  He 
was  taken  kindly  by  the  hand,  welcomed  to  the  pulpits  of 
his  brethren  of  various  denominations,  and  encouraged  to 
plead  his  cause.  Two  or  three  men  were  found  ready  to 
consecrate  themselves  to  missionary  work  in  the  Province 
and  to  accompany  him  on  his  return. 

During  his   absence  from  N.  B.,  from  June,  1819,  to 


JOUBNAL.      I 


Oct  1820,  when  he  left  Glasgow  for  America,  he  kept  a 
joarual,  devoted  chiefly  to  a  record  of  the  religious  exer- 
cises of  his  mind.  It  will  appear  from  this  how  feithful 
he  was  with  his  own  soul,  and  how,  through  severe 
spiritual  conflicts,  God  was  preparing  him  to  become 
eminently  an  experimental  preacher. 

"  December  8, 1819.  Prayer  to  God ;  desire  to  live  unto 
God.        .        .        .  ' 

"  Alas,  O  my  Saviour  !  when  shall  1 1^  wise  ?    When 

shall  I  fear  thee  aright  ?    Look  back,  my  soul,  on  B-^ , 

B ,  A"— — ,  Edin ,  to  Ireland,  to  Greenock,  to 

Glasgow.  Examine  the  state  of  the  mind  at  all  these 
places.  But  oh,  that  solitary  night  at  N.  H. ;  the  promise 
to  God ;  the  prayer  put  up  ;  the  journey  to  A.  ;  inter- 
position at  the  moment  the  most  desperate  !  Surely  this 
is  like  God  ;  his  manner  of  correcting  his  people ;  bitter 
in  the  bud  ;  mercies  at  Glasgow.  Helps  there  from  ser- 
mons by  Dr.  Chalmers,  Dr.  Love,  &c. 

«  Dr.  C.'s  text,  Rom.  —  The  manner  of  the  Spirit's  illu- 
mination ;  what  grieved  him,  what  cherished  him.  Dr. 
Love,  Acts  vii.  —  .*I  have  seen,  I  have  seen  the  affliction 
of  my  people,^  &c.  He  seeth ;  he  knoweth,  for  he  sendeth 
affliction ;  but  he  cometh  down  to  deliver.  Improvement ; 
bring  triaU  under  his  notice  by  prayer. 

"  Much  talk,  even  on  religion,  fosters  pride  and  destroys 
seriousness.  O  Lord,  for  Jesus'  sake,  give  me  grace  to 
think  much  and  speak  little.  Let  me  hourly  examine 
myself.  Keep  me,  Lord,  from  pride  and  presumption. 
Let  me  never  be  satisfied  nor  count  myself  safe  except 
when  humble,  and  calm,  and  solemn  in  mind.  May  I 
ever  val  je  prayer  mora  than  I  have  done. 

"  Sabbath,  December  — ,  1819,  at  Liverpool.  Morn- 
ing,  preached   tor  Mr.    Philip,   from    Isaiah  i.   18-16. 


84 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


1.  Blessing  turned  into  a  curse.  2.  Test  of  this.  &. 
Remedy. 

**  Preached  in  Spencer's  pulpit.  After  meeting,  stood  on 
his  grave;  dispersed  the  snow  with  my  foot  from  his 
stone. 

**  In  the  afternoon,  heard  Mr.  Philip,  from  2  Tim.  iv.  18. 
....  I  have  found  this  to  be  a  truth;  and  may  the 
Lord,  by  his  Holy  Spirit,  deeply  impress  upon  my  mind 
that  if  the  means  are  neglected  grace  will  not  thrive. 
'  Watch  and  pray.*         .^^v,  *v^,rt4.  ■  -■tri«iiiu-ii-:-fe-iai  *  ;*&,.*-'*,  u.«;<-r., 

^^  Monday^  December  -^  1819.  At  night,  much  d^ 
sire  and  some  feeble  effort  to  wrestle  with  God ;  wishing  to 
be  placed  in  some  lonely  situation ;  but,  then,  Satan  would 
find  me  out.  Lord,  make  me  content,  and  fit  me  for 
every  duty. 

**  Tuesday,  In  the  morning,  rather  calm ;  went  out  de- 
pending on  tlie  grace  of  God.  The  nature  of  my  duty  un- 
firiendly  to  watchfulness,  but  I  see  clearly  nothing  else  will 
secure  victory. 

**  Wednesday  Morning.  How  pressing  is  sloth  when  one 
awakens ;  how  hard  to  bring  the  mind  to  fix  upon  God ; 
how  malicious  the  devil ;  how  completely  he  manages  my 
soul  and  distresses  me  until  I  have  recourse  to  God's  Word, 
the  Sword  of  the  Spirit  I  Lord,  for  thy  sake,  teach  me 
more  than  ever  to  value  thy  Word ;  and,  oh,  let  thy  Spirit 
accompany  it  for  my  sanctification  I  I  think  it  is  my  de- 
sire to  Hve  to  God  ;  but  so  light,  so  vacant,  so  vain,  so  un- 
stable are  all  my  thoughts  and  resolutions,  that  I  dare  not 
promise.  Oh  for  a  fulfilment  of  that  Scripture,  *  The 
Lord  will  deliver  me  from  every  evil  word,  and  preserve 
me  unto  his  heavenly  kingdom  I '  ^  <  -mm  •w**i*)m  ^stfil^*  **^ 

"  Surely,  the  tongue  is  an  unruly  member,  a  world  of 
iniquity,  set  on  fire  of  hell.     Lord,  deliver  me  from  it.   W 


JOURNAL,     ii^ 


86 


**  Friday f  December  17, 1819.  Hard  to  keep  the  vain 
heart  near  to  God  in  any  duty,  especially  public  duties,  in 
a  strange  place. 

*' Sabbath,  December  19,  1819.  Oh,  the  devices  of 
Satan  I  the  danger  of  con^ortable  feelings!  —  they  make 
one  think  he  is  strong,  and  then  Satan  is  ready  to  attack. 
....  Some  hope  in  reading  the  twenty-fifth  Psalm,  and 
in  prayer.  ^*  ^ 

*^  Tuesday  Evening^  December  21.  *'«•«. .  This  night, 
O  Lord,  my  naked  soul  "Yould  fall  upon  thy  mercy  in 
Christ,  and  pray  thee,  for  his  dear  name's  sake,  to  accept 
of  me,  soul  and  body,  as  I  vowed  at  N.  H.  Oh,  hit  ma  no 
more  wander ;  sanctify  and  cleanse  me,  and  prepare  me  tor 
thy  service,  in  dependence  upon  thy  sovereign  gi'ace. 

*V0  God,  search  my  heart;  let  me  know  how  I  can  ob- 
tain assurance  of  thy  pardoning  love.  My  soul  would 
pant  after  thee,  O  adorable  Saviour  I  Surely  the  recovery 
of  such  a  rebel  will  glorify  thy  matchless  grace.  .... 

"  ....  Do  I  desire  credit  for  what  may  be  done,  or  is 
it  my  only  desire  that  Christ  may  be  exalted,  and  sinners 
saved?    O  God,  make  my  soul  uncere,  and  pardon  all 

"  Wednesday ,  December  22.     To^ay  very  successful  in 

behalf  of  the  Society O  blessed  Saviour  I  guide  me 

by  thy  word  and  Spirit,  and  keep  my  feet  from  falling. 

"  Sunday,  December  26, 1819.  Heard  Mr,  Philip,  from 
Psalm »— — .     Beauty  of  Holiness. 

"  Afternoon,  Preached  for  Mr.  Philip,  from  Heb.  ii.  3. 
Much  fear,  but  I  believe  the  Lord  helped  me.  Heard  Mr. 
Raffles.  Powerftd  language  and  choice  expressions,  but 
too  much  motion  of  the  body.  Discourse  from  1  Cor.  xv. 
It  was  blessed  to  my  soul.  Oh,  may  all  within  me  bless 
His  holyp^mel    May  L  ever  have  the  same  confidence 


i-T%f. 


\ 


aa 


DUNCi^N   DUNBAB. 


that  He  only  designs  to  refine,  not  consume  me.  Faith  is 
surely  everything  ;  all  things  follow  it.  O  God  of  mercy, 
I  desire,  on  this  last  Sabbath  of  the  year,  to  thank  and  adore 
thee  for  thy  many  fevors.  I  would  remember  my  engage- 
ments to  be  thine,  if  thou  wilt  keep  me.  My  soul,  remem- 
ber this  and  fear  God.  I  feel  to-night  as  if  I  should  have 
6t7*ength  supplied  to  bear  me  up.  4^^-m^:'^fVf^,<^?imiv«m'iir'fi^' 

**  O  my  soul,  give  not  up  your  hold  of  God's  mercy, 
nor  his  cause  in  which  you  are  engaged.     ■^  :ris^-;"m^':'-^^->^ 

"  M<mdatfi  December  27,  1819.  Awoke  to-day  in  a 
very  comfortable  state,  with  these  words  running  through 
my  mind,  *  Believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  thou 

"Spoke  at  the  Lyceum;  was  surely  h6lped;  then,  oh, 
what  pride  I  L'ord,  guard  me  against  this  in  future.  I 
seem  to  hope  that  He  will,  at  some  period,  reveal  himself 
to  me  in  love.  At  times,  I  am  willing  to  be  anything  to 
have  Christ,  and  faith  in  him ;  again,  aversion,  indiffer- 
ence. Think  often  I  was  never  converted.  ^^  ell,  now, 
let  me  admit  this,  —  if  not  converted,  how  awful  my  latter 
end,  —  a  hypocrite  I  Oh  for  grace  to  know  this,  to  taste 
the  joys  of  salvation  and  thie  love  of  God !  Confused  ideas 
of  God  and  Christ ;  too  ready  to  take  things  at  venture  and 
hearsay  ;  proof  of  lukewarmness  and  want  of  saving  faith. 
All  worldly  conversation  no  friend  to  grace.  Word  of  God 
very  precious.    \  i^i-s-^^-    -viAf'^v  ti-  .„a.L  :;j.*«^v»*ftife,«fjs^ 

"  January  25.  Felt  earnest  desires  after  God  in  pray- 
er;  hard  heart,  in  some  measure  removed.   .<*  **»**-^**:  ** 

**  Surely,  nothing  short  of  communion  with  God  ought 
to  satisfy  a  soul.  This  morning,  I  resolved,  in  God's  pres- 
ence and  by  the  entire  help  of  his  Spirit  and  grace,  that  I 
will  desire  this  one  thing  and  seek  after  it. a  h7MM4.-M^m's^ 

'*  Surely  Hart  of  London  is  right  in  saying,  *  A  true 


-J^^f JOURNAL,    'kt 


87 


0M,'ii'.Jitl^i»ilt^t 


Cliristian  looks  moire  to  OhrUt  crucified  for  comfort,  than 
lie  does  to  the  subduing  and  destruction  of  sin  in  his 
heart.'  Oh,  yes!  the  latter,  I  find,  may  he  carried  on 
under  a  self-righteous  covering,  and  Christ  have  no  room 
there.     None  but  Christ  I     None  but  Christ  I 

*^  When  conscience  charges  me  with  sloth,  careless  indif- 
ference about  my  soid,  I  feel  a  secret  wish  for  the  return 
of  keen  distress.  I  think  this  must  be  of  Satan.  In 
these  distresses  he  finds  opportunity  of  putting  in  his.accu* 
sations; — the  door  is  open-" — accounts  are  looked  into— r 
and  when  it  is  a  time  of  general  reckoning,  ho  can  the 
more  easily  forge  a  weighty  charge  and  give  his  advice 
when  the  soul  finds  not  wherewithal  to  pay.  I  do  not 
recollect  that  I  have  been  prevailed  upon  to  pray  for  dis- 
tress*; yet  he  would  surely  delight  to  see  matters  brouglit 
thus  far,  for  this  would  be  contrary  to  all  Scripture  — 
to  all  the  Psalms  —  to  the  Lord's  Prayer,  &e.  Surely, 
not  distress  and  temptations  so  much  as  love  to  Christy 
will  constrain  the  soul  to  obedience.  Let  me  be  patient, 
and  pray  to  God  under  distress,  but  not/<?r  it.  * 

"  Jan.  28.  Called  on  Mr.  M.  Unprofitable  conversa- 
tion. Oh,  when  shall  I  be  wise  ?  When  shall  I  despise 
the  opinions  of  men  ?  Some  men  keep  all  their  own  mat- 
ters, and  yet  would  like  to  know  the  minds  of  others.  May 
]  be  decided  and  humble.  May  I  love  God's  people,  his 
word  and  prayer.  At  fiimily  worship,  read  in  John  iii. — 
light  but  no  heat.  ^ v«$«^ .  :*!4,-:  '■■;#^-"iR«-w»'-f'-ia*jf»T^'-^(*!#::-..  f 

^'' Monday^  Jan.  81, 1820.  .  .  ,  .    Called  on  Dr.  Love. 
......    Oh,  how  cursed  pride  runs  through  my  every 

word  and  action  !  Surely  It  must  be  destroyed  in  the  bud, 
if  ever.     Oh,  to  attain  to  »i  command  over  my  spirit,  by 


;  "*.llOf:"^3  f>vv. 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


the  fear  of  God  and  belief  in  lus  omnipotence  and  omni- 
science I     ^*|s;#»#*'*?*^:&"Ib^ 

**  JV6.  5.    Pride  will  feed  upon  anything  rather  than 

starve Oh,  let  me  set  much  value  upon  prayer  I 

Astonishing  the  struggles  of  indwelling  sin  and  corruption, 
—  how  subtle  the  enemy.     Watch  and  pray,  O  my  soul  I 

**  Fd>,  9.  No  command  of  myself ;  sore  struggle  in  the 
morning ;  an  army  of  doubters ;  unbelief,  fear,  corruption, 
hardness  of  heart ;  a  mighty  and  painful  storm  ;  slow  to 
pray ;  but  prayer  relieved  me  in  the  course  of  the  day.  . 
....  Pride  is  first  born,  then  weak,  then  grows  up,  and 
being  a  little  cherished,  asks  more.  What  is  man  ?  Oh, 
may  it  be  my  inquiry.  How  do  I  appear  in  God's  sight  ? 
Am  I  pleasing  him  or  no  ?  Oh,  to  have  assurance  of 
God's  love  in  Christ  I  •  Helped  when  reading  Hart's 
Hymns. 

*■*•  Feb.  10 Convinced  by  the  Scriptures,  by 

Hart,  by  Dr.  Stewart,  by  conscience,  tliat  nothing  short 
of  the  personal  appropriation  of  Christ's  blood  and  right- 
eousness will  do,  or  will  be  suffered  to  support  the  soul  in 
the  day  of  trial ;  and  by  the  help  of  God's  Spirit  I  will  seek 

afler  this Oh,  what  would  I  give  for  a  touch  of 

Christ's  love  I     Oh,  such  enmity,  such  hardness  in  the 

heart ;  such  a  man  of  iniquity  and  ingratitude  I 

If  God  will  have  mercy  upon  me,  I  purpose  to  seek  after 

communion  with  himself. Harp  on  the  willow, 

indeed.  Oh  that  I  might  know  and  feel  for  poor  souls  in 
like  distress,  and  point  them  to  the  Saviour  I  Surely  this 
needs  faith  divine,  a  gift  from  God,  —  when  Jesus  hides 
his  fiice,  to  trust  him 

"  Oh,  what  is  man  without  command  over  his  spirit  ? 
What  is  man  without  prayer?  Empty,  proud,  vain,  hypo* 
'•ritical,   exposed  to  every  snare.     O  my  Saviour,  hor 


,r      JOURNAL.      ^| 


89 


mncb  I  need  forgiveness  I  I  see  this  night,  and  may  I 
never  forget  this  while  I  have  my  being,  that  I  cannot 
trust  myself  one  moment ;  that  grace,  like  the  manna,  will 
not  keep,  —  must  be  gathered  every  day.  And  I  see  that  f 
grace  need  not  be  expected  to  defeat  temptation,  unless 
valued,  and  sought  for  by  diligent  and  earnest  prayer. 
Past  help  will  not  help  in  present  trials  and  temptations.  . 

Oh,  how  generously  and  mercifully  the  Spirit  ^ 

urges  to  compliance ! Oh,  what  false  logic  I  Were 

I  less  sinful,  I  could  freely  come ;  yea,  but  not  in  that  event 
as  a  vile  and  empty  sinner,  ready  to  perish,  destitute  of 
every  hope  save  the  mere  mercy  of  God  in  Christ. 

"  Wednesday ^  Feb.  16.  At  Dr.  Love's  to  dinner;  may 
I,  from  his  behavior,  learn  humility,  —  be  swift  to  hear, 

Ac.  ,.     ....... 

"  With  Dr.  Chalmers. 

"  March  2, 1820.    When  nothing  troubles  me  I  am  quite 

careless.     Surely  I  need  a  thorn  in  the  flesh 

Alas,  I  almost  forget  poor  New  Brunswick!  Lord, 
quicken  me  I 

"  Received  great  help,  this  evening,  in  reading  the  letter 
from  my  dear  friend,  Miss  M.  Oh,  may  God  hear  her 
prayer  I  I  am  encouraged  to  hope  that  God  will  yet 
have  mercy  on  N.  B.  Oh,  how  sweet  the  spirit  of  true 
missionary  zeal  I 

"  Sunday^  March  12, 1820.    Felt  a  sensible  touch  of  love 
to  the  Saviour,  or  rather  a  most  sweet  and  ardent  desire  , 
after  that  love.     Oh,  this  was  pleasing  1     May  the  blessed 
Spirit  come  and  make  my  soul  like  the  chariot  of  Amin* 
adab.     Long  have  I  been  in  captivity  and  darkness. 

**  March  14, 1820.  Great  and  kind  Providence,  —  meet- 
ing with  three  young  men,  all  partly  inclined  to  go  to  N.  B. 
Oh,  when  I  look  back  to  the  origin  of  the  So' 


i'-'r' 


40 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


ciety,  to  all  the  steps,  *7C.,  to  the  present,  I  say,  surely  it 
b  of  God.  O  my  dear  Redeemer,  keep  me  humble,  and 
make  me  sincere.  ♦#  #W'l-'.  Oh,  I  desire  to  be  His." 

When  in  Ireland,  on  the  business  of  his  mission,  Mr. 
Dunbar's  heart  was  with  the  Iambs  he  had  gathered  into 
the  fold  in  St.  George.     He  writes  to  one : 

.  ..."  I  hope,  my  dear  young  friend,  that  the  deceit- 
fulness  of  sin  has  not  gained  any  encouraging  victory  over 
your  soul ;  that  you  are  still  living  by  faith  on  the  bleed- 
ing wounds  of  our  once  suffering  but  now  exalted  Re- 
deemer  Do  you  feel  your  love  to  Jesus  becom- 
ing cold,  and  your  delight  in  prayer  less  ?  If  so,  take 
heed,  my  dear  friend;  yotr  '  vsary  is  thus  seeking  to 
destroy  you.  Pray  much  vn-:  v  ften ;  tell  the  Saviour 
freely  what  you  see  and  feel  in  yourself.  He  is  very 
merciful.  He  knows  what  those  temptations  mean. 
Read  much  in  the  epistle  to  the  Romans.  Think  much 
on  the  sufferings  and  death  of  Christ.     Remember  that 


>*«■  ^ . 


His  wisdom,  his  power,  his  faithfulness  stand        < 

Engaged  to  conduct  you  in  snfety  to  land ; 
He  will  not  forget  you ;  he  cannot  forget 
'  What  Calvary  witnessed  to  cancel  yonr  debt  I ' 


.«' 


_r(' 


(( 


I  often  speak  of  you  to  my  friends  in  this  country,  and 
you  have  the  good  will  of  many  you  will  never  see  in  the 
iflosh." 


I't 


'■?  :^*''*' ,^:■•■ 
.1.'     I.    ♦»„ 


-  ,  V  ' 


X\  . 


'    .    "I 


S  f  *^^^^;^  W/'V^^T 


syM  *  .r^ii^[%4i««i!*Hi*:       CHAPTER  V.    ^'••"^■■:*^-> '***^'  '^ 

Iletunu  to  Scotiaiid  -BUek  Hany—  Kmbarlu  with  his  Auiiily  tn  AmeriM— Labon 
on  Shipboard  —  ProTisioDS  Fail  — His  Faith  in  Ood— -A  Birth  in  the  BtMnc*  — 
Visit  from  a  Wlials  —  Suifcrinca  from  Hongw  —  Qfldin  the Stoia.  fi 

AVING  accomplished  the  ohject  of  his  visit  to 
Great  Britain  with  reference  to  the  Missionary 
Society,  Mr.  Dunhar  set  sail,  with  hie  wife  and 
three  children,  for  America,  in  the  fall  of  1820. 
The  particulars  of  the  long  and  perilous  voyage 
are  well  remembered  by  his  eldest  daughter,  Mrs.  Brush, 
wife  of  Rev.  William  Brash,  who  has  prepared  the  follow- 
ing account  of  it,  embracing  also  a  few  earlier  incidents : 
"  The  first  event  of  any  importance  I  can  recollect  is 
our  dear  father's  return  from  America,  when  we  were 
all  roused  from  our  sleep  in  the  night  to  see  him.  In  the 
morning  he  showed  us  Hany,  the  young  black  man  he 
had  brought  over  to  take  care  pf  us  on  the  sea.  We  had 
never  seen  a  colored  person  before,  and  were  almost  terror- 
stricken  at  the  strange  phenomenon.  Father  gave  us 
each  a  piece  of  silver  for  him,  and  made  us  stroke  his 
black  hand  and  talk  to  him,  till  we  lost  our  fears,  and  very 
soon  we  were  great  friend^.  Harry  was  the  son  of  a  good 
woman  in  St.  John,  who  had  in  some  way  procured  her 
own  freedom,  with  the  privilege  of  purchasing  her  son's,  if 
she  could.  When  she  heard  that  father  was  looking  for 
some  one  to  go  home  with  him,  she  implored  him  to  take 
Harry,  and  to  beg  his  friends  to  buy  him.  This  father 
did,  raising  the  whole  amount.     Harry  waited  on  us  dur- 

4*  (41) 


42 


DITNCAN  ^imBAR. 


ing  the  voyage,  and  was  most  kind,  attentive  and  obedient. 
Poor  fellow  I  He  suffered  all  that  we  did  on  that  terrible 
passage,  reached  home,  and  greeted  his  mother,  a  free  and 
happy  young  man,  only  to  lose  his  life  by  the  same 
treacherous  element  from  which  we  had  just  escaped.  He 
had  gone  out,  not  long  after  his  return,  in  a  little  row- 
boat,  in  the  harbor  of  St.  John,  and  was  drowned  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  the  shore.  The  poor  heart-broken 
mother  could  not  rest  till  she  came  and  lived  with  us  in  St. 
George.  I  mention  Jenny  and  Harry  only  to  show  the 
deep  interest  our  father  always  took  in  the  slaves.  It 
began  with  these  two  and  ended  only  with  life. 

*'  The  next  event  which  made  any  deep  impression  on  my 
childish  memory  was  the  distress  and  anguish,  venting 
itself  in  tears,  of  our  grandmother  Mitchel  at  parting  with 
us.  Aflter  we  had  all  been  kissed  again  and  again,  and 
pressed  to  her  heart  many  times,  we  entered  the  carriage, 
the  door  was  closed  behind  us,  and  the  horses  started. 
She  ran  after  us,  opened  the  door,  and  threw  herself  into 
the  carriage  in  an  agony  of  grief.  It  was  with  great  diffi- 
culty that  she  was  induced  to  go  into  the  house  while  her 
youngest  child  was  going,  away  from  her  forever.  Her 
swollen  eyes  and  agonized  countenance  I  shall  never  forget. 
That  was  the  last  we  ever  saw  of  our  grandmotlier. 
From  Glasgow  we  took  some  kind  of  vessel  for  London- 
derry, and  had  a  terrible  night  on  the  Irish  Channel^  the 
weather  being  stormy  and  the  waves  running  high. 
Dear  mother  was  much  alarmed  in  prospect  of  the  long 
voyage,  when  this  short  one  was  so  fearful  ;  but  tho 
captain  assured  her  that  he  had  often  crossed  the  Atlantic 
without  encountering  such  winds  and  waves,  and  en- 
couraged her  to  believe  that  she  was  seeing  the  worst  of 
the  sea.    liut  how  false  this  kind  prophecy  proved  1 


..SJQUENAL. 


48 


**•  We  embarked  for  America  on  board  a  ship  called, 
<The  Halifax  Packet/  I  remember  standing  upon  the 
deck  while  father  was  attending  to  his  luggage,  and 
watching  the  sailors  shovelling  potatoes  into  the  hold 
with  a  loud  *  Heave  ho  I '  at  every  effort.  In  my  child- 
ish curiosity,  I  asked  a  gentleman  standing  by  me, 
what  those  men  wanted  of  so  many  potatoes.  He 
replied  that  the  ship  had  not  ballast  enough  to  keep  her 
steady  on  the  sea;  that  stones  were  generally  used, 
but  the  captain  could  get  none,  so  they  had  to  make  po* 
tatoes  answer  the  purpose.  We  little  kn.-ifr  thr^  this 
lack  of  proper  ballast  and  the  substituting  of  potatoes  for 
stones  was  part  of  the  great  plan  of  a  kind  Providence  for 
saving  the  lives  of  all  on  that  ship^ 

**  I  have  no  recollection  of  any  occurrence  on  shiplKMurd 
until  we  came  to  suffer  from  hunger  and  thirst,  except 
that  father  used  to  preach  on  the  Sabbath  when  the  pas- 
sengers could  keep  their  scats,  and  sometimes  when 
they  could  not  do  so  very  comfortably,  and  that  he  used  to 
walk  the  deck  arm  in  arm  with  gentlemen,  in  earnest 
conversation,  which  I  have  since  learned  was  on  the  one 
subject  which  wholly  engrossed  his  mind,  —  the  salva- 
tion of  the  soul  through  the  blood  of  Christ.  Through 
this  daily  prayerful  effort,  several  souls  were  brought  to 
God,  among  whom  was  Captain  Leary,  a  Roman 
Catholic,  who  was  a  passenger.  A  letter  is  found 
among  father's  papers,  from  a  young  man,  written  while 
a  student  in  the  Princeton  Seminary,  referring  to  his 
converaation  with  him,  then  a  little  boy,  as  the  means  of 
drawing  his  attention  to  his  state  before  God,  and  leading 
him  to  Christ.  Some  of  the  sailors  were  also  converted 
through  his  instrumentaUty.  Captain  Leary  was  bap- 
tized by  Dr.  Maclay,  on  his  an*ival  in  New  York,  and  ia, 


\ 


44 


DUNCAN  PUNBAB. 


we  believe,  now  living  to  bear  his  testimony  of  Christ 
among  those  to  whose  creed  of  prayers  and  penances 
.he  once  subscribed.  Who  shall  know  until  the >  day 
%hen  the  books  are  opened,  what  results  have  followed 
those  labors  of  love  op  the  mighty  deep  I  ^^  ^>  J#  . 

*  "'The  HaU&x  Packet'  proved  wholly  unseaworthy, 
and  after  bdng  out  a  month,  was  driven  back  by  wind 
and  wave  to  within  a  hu.  dred  or  two  miles  of  the  Irish 
coast.  She  was  provisioned  for  only  eight  weeks,  and 
when  the  captain  saw  how  things  were  going  and  that 
the  passage  would  be  mudi  longer:  than  usual,  he  began 
ta  allowance   all  on   board   except  the   sail^ors,  saying, 

*  My  men  have  to  work,  and  they  must  be  well  fed.' 
Cabin  and  steerage  pass^ingers  were  put  oa  a  level  in 
the  distribution,  and  all  submitted  to  the  privation  with 
tbact  sympathy  toward  each  other  which  common  misery 
induces.  At  length  the  day  caitie  when  the  captain  was 
forced  to  announce  that  the  last  grain  of  rice,  barley,  flour, 
oatmeal,  meat,  and  fish  had  been  given  out,  —  nothing  re- 
maining between  us  and  starvation  except  the  potatoes 
in  the  hvAd.  To  add  to  the  terror  of  our  situation,  we 
were  now  at  the  mercy  of  the  waves,  not  knowing  in  what 
part  of  ^  the  ocean  we  were.  The  compass  having  been 
washed  overboard,  die  captain  had  no  means  of  making 
his  reckoning.  Now  came  the  last  resort.  The  potatoes, 
Wi.ich  certainly  had  not  improved  in  quality  by  lying 
many  weeks  in  the  damp  hold,  were  brought  up,  and  each 
one  —  there  were  fifty  passengers,  and  a  crew  of  nineteen 
men  —  was  allowanced  to  four  potatoes  and  a  gill  of 
water  a  day !  For  sixteen  weeks  v»  a  existed  on  this  poor  tare, 
until  the  sailors  became  so  weak  that  they  could  no  longer 
work  the  ship.  The  captain  then  called  on  every  man  on 
board  to  take  his  turn  at  whatever  was  required  to  be  done. 


A  BIBTH  IN  THE  BTEBBAGE.  45 

Then  the  gentlemen  from  the  cabin  and  state-rocnns  as  well 
as  the  poor  men  from  the  steerage,  came  into  the  new  ser- 
vice, each  taking  his  turn  at  the  pnmp  ;  for  the  ship  was 
leaking  badly.  ■  Mii'MdM"'^' 

**  I  remember  well  how  father  used  to  comfort  our  g  lar 
mother  and  all  the  other  weak  and  timid  ones  who  flocked 
round  him  during  this  terrific  season.  He  would  repeat 
portions  of  Scripture,  and  sing  hymns,  and  pray  with 
those  who  sent  for  him  to  any  other  part  of  the  ship  — 
and  they  were  many,  —  leading  the  mind  up  from  our 
trials,  to  God,  who  cares  for  the  weakest  and  most  helpless 
of  his  creatures.  How  often  did  he  refer  to  Paul's  ship- 
wreck, remindin^^  those  who  listened,  that  not  one  sool 
on  board  peiisbed^  but  every  one  was,  in  God's  own  time, 
brought  safely  to  land.  *  So,'  he  said,  *  I  firmly  believe 
it  will  be  here  with  us.'  He  used  every  circumstance, 
however  trivial,  which  occurred,  to  strengthen  his  own 
faith  as  well  as  theirs.  One  morning  it  was  announced 
that  a  babe  had  been  bom  in  the  steerage  ;  and,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  this  caused  great  joy  among  all  classes  in 
the  ship ;  and  father  exclaimed :  *  I  do  believe  that  God 
intends  to  save  our  whole  company ;  for,  instead  of  tak- 
ing away  a  single  life  by  sickness,  starvation,  or  accident, 
he  has  added  another  to  our  number.'  He  then  proposed 
that  any  one  who  felt  that  he  could  spare  one  potato  a 
day,  or  even  half  a  one,  should  send  it  to  the  poor  Irish 
mother,  who  had  now  another  life,  beside  her  own,  to 
save.  She  had  a  full  supply  afler  this,  whoever  else  was 
hungry.  The  boy,  by  request  of  the  passengers,  was 
named  for  the  captain.  ,f  *  '      :^" 

"  One  day  an  immense  whale  came  alongside  our 
ship,  and  began  performing  strange  antics,  not  so  enter- 
taining to  tliose  who  understood  the  danger  as  to  us  chil- 


i^ 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


di«n,  who  aittiu^  oonelvBs  bj  tlirowiiig  sticks  and  bits 
of  paper  on  his  glossy  back ;  the  sea  being,  at  the  time, 
veiy  calm,  lie  had  to  be  veiy  carefully  watched  for 
twenty-four  hours,  lest  he  m^ght  overtum  the  yessel,  by 
getting  under  it.  The  captain  told  us  the  whale  had 
mistaken  the  ship  for  his  ma  lir^,  and  would  not  leave  till  he 
discovered  his  mistake.  After  it  s^w  dark,  many  of  the 
passengers  came  to  our  state-room,  saj^ing  that  they  could 
not  sleep  while  th6y  knew  he  was  thefe  making  the  sea 
foam  around  us.  Then  &ther  reminded  them  that  *  God, 
who  kept  Jonah  alive  three  days  imide  of  a  whale,  could 
surely  take  care  of  us  who  were  on  the  oiUfide.*  He  as- 
sured them  that  not  a  hair  of  their  heads  should  perish; 
and  I  doubt  not  that  was  his  praye  r  all  through  the  night. 
About  daylight  the  whale  moved  o£P,  and  left  us  eaty  as 
far  as  he  was  concerned. 

*''  How  often  have  I  seen  our  father,  in  this  time  of  dis- 
tress, eat  the  skins  of  the  potatoes  that  we  might  have  a 
larger  share;  and  often  he  and  our  dear  mother  would 
not  taste  water  for  days,  lest  we  should  ciy  for  it  at  night 
and  they  have  none  to  ^ve  us.  When  rain  fell,  which 
was  very  seldom,  every  ona  ran  on  deck  with  a  sheet  or 
any  thing  which  would  nold  water,  to  catch,  if  possible, 
a  few  drops  of  the  precious  liquid.  I  can  call  to  mind, 
now,  the  yellowish-black  color  of  the  water,  and  its  tarry 
taste,  from  the  ropes  and  rigging  through  which  it  passed 
before  reaching  us.     *'^t^Jr  v,.-.  r^,.  ^,..,c  ^.  ^  f-w,...- 

**We  had  a  small  cabin,  witli  a  table  of  our  own, 
where  poor  Harry  waited  on  us.  Sometimes,  when  he 
would  bring  in  the  one  dish  and  set  it  in  the  middle  of 
the  table,  father  would  say :  *  Well,  Harry,  my  boy,  how 
do  you  think  the  potatoes  are  holding  out  ?  *     Once,  he 


.J^FAITHlINAOOD, 


'*L 


replied :  *■  There  are  not '  many  left,  sir. ' '  I  looked  down 
to-daj  when  the  steward  was  taking  them  put.' 

"*  Well,  Harry,'  he  answered,  *  the  l^aviour  knows  all 
about  us ;  just  what  spot  of  the  ocean  we  are  in,  and  just 
what  we  Aieed  most ;  and  he  could,  if  he  saw  fit,  multiply 
the  potatoes  in  the  hold  when  no  one  saw  him,  just  as  he 
did  the  loaves  and  fishes ;  or  he  could  send  a  vessel  along- 
side, as  he  has  done  once ;  or  he  can  bring  us  to  shore  be- 
fore the  last  potato  is  gone.  He  will  take  care  of  us, 
Hariy.  -.^^  ^.'^r&iuiri^iu^  ij,  .  -   :^."^''f-'-^^-- 

"  Once,  when  the  dish  came  in,  my  little  sister  said : 
*  Don*t  ask  a  blessing  to-day,  dear  father,  I'm  so  hungry.' 

**  *  O  yes,  my  dear,'  he  replied,  *  we  must  ask  a  short 
blessing.  I  will  not  preach  a  sermon,  but  just  thank 
God  that  we  took  potatoes  instead  of  stones  for  ballast ; 
for,  you  know,  we  could  not  have  eaten  stones.'   ifim^m  'm^ 

**  How  vividly  come  up  to  my  mind  the  gentle  tones 
of  our  mother's  voice,  as  she  used  to  quiet  our  infant 
fears.  In  the  darkness  of  the  night,  when  no  light  could 
be  kept  for  the  wind  and  spray,  and  when,  as  I  have  since 
heard  her  say,  she  was  expecting  that  every  plunge  of 
the  groaning  ship  would  be  the  last,  she  used  to  sing  to 


us. 


■/ 


'=  *    *  The  wondeHn^  world  inqbites  to  kiiow^  -  *    ***'^' ' 

Why  I  should  lore  my  Savioiir  so ; '  f      ,;.>.,/ 

..^'  ,^^f!'••• 


'  Jeans,  and  shall  it  ever  be, 
!'  A  mortal  man  ashamed  of  thee  t ' 


**  And  also  many  of  the  beautiful  Scotch  Paraphrases, 


as. 


.iw. 


'  The  Lord  my  Shepherd  is. 
My  wants  he  will  supply ; 
Through  pastures  green  he  loadeth  me. 
The  quiet  waters  by. 


mmMwuinii 


48 


1 1 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 

Mj  aoal  he  doth  nytore  agaiii : 
And  me  to  walk  doth  make 

Within  the  paths  of  righteoosoeM, 
Even  for  his  own  name's  sake. 


'liiA 


^?|- 


-■"^v. 


'  Yea,  thoogh  I  walk  in  dealb'a  diwrk  ahtdtb 

Yet  will  I  fear  none  ill;  1  *.  "  " 
For  Thon  art  whh  me,  and  thy  rod 

And  stair,  me  comfort  still ; 
My  table  Thou  hast  fumish<>d  jwj^i'^,  ?t  i 

In  presence  of  my  foes  ;  . 
My  head  Thon  dost  with  oil  andnt ; 

And  my  cup  overflows. 

*  Goodness  and  mercy  all  my  life        y ,. 

Shall  sorely  follow  me ; 
And  in  God's  house,  forever  more,  \!t}~ 
' «  \  My  dwelling-place  shall  he.'         y^'--^- 


Jr' 


m.'^:i 


•■,?-■■ 


'^'■v- 


<&1I^A    AU    \;|U\A  m    UVUDV,    AUAVTOA    AACV&V,       f  'tT      .'.  •  .  'V^  ,  .    ^^ 

^  -Jt    i  ,,  \  My  dwelling-place  shall  he.'         • '  f    f      -*  -^^  * ' 

.;« (t  gjjg  yggd  often  to  gather  us  around  her  in  her  own  berth, 
for  much  of  the  time  it  was  too  boisterous  to  sit  or  stand, 
and  there  amuse  us  with  Bible  stories.  She  told  us  of 
Daniel,  who  was  safe  even  in  a  lion's  den,  and  of  the 
three  men  who  were  unharmed  in  the  fiery  furnace ;  and 
of  Elijah,  whom  the  ravens  fed  when  hungry,  —  all  be- 
cause God  was  with  them,  and  cared  for  them.  Once,  I 
remember,  she  told  us  many  of  the  names  given  to  Jesus, 
in  the  Bible ;  as  *  Saviour,'  *  Immanuel,'  *  Son  of  Man,' 
'  The  Mighty  God,'  *  Prince  of  Peace,'  *  The  Mighty 
One  of  Jacob.'  '-■'  '-■*?'*  **"*r'"  ^-'•>*v  ?.;-*»^:»  i-t^r: 

"  This  last  seemed  to  my  childish  mind  the  best  of  all ; 
and  after  that,  when  the  winds  would  howl  louder  and  the 
vessel  plunge  more  Jearfully  than  usual,  I  used  to  say, 
*  O  dear  mother,  do  tell  us  about  the  Mighty  One  of 
Jacob  I '  And,  now,  as  I  look  back,  it  seems  that  I  must 
have  had  strong  childish  faith  in  this  Mighty  One,  who  is 
able  to  save  to  the  uttermost  all  who  call  upon  him. 

**  One  scene  made  an  impression  on  my  mind  never  to  be 


GOD  IN  THE  STORM. 


effaced.  We  had  passed  an  awful  night,  and  as  none  were 
able  to  sleep,  the  cabin-passengers  had  been  going  about  all 
night*  to  each  other*8  state-rooms,  trying,  by  conversation 
and  prayer,  to  inspire  themselves  and  others  with  hope. 

"  At  daylight,  our  father  went  on  deck  to  learn  the  cause 
of  the  trouble.  He  soon  returned,  saying  to  mother,  *  Oh, 
my  dear,  I  wish  you  were  able  to  go  on  deck  for  one  mo- 
ment I  But  as  you  are  not,  I  must  take  the  children  up, 
one  at  a  time,  that  they  may  see  the  wonderful  works  of 
the  Almighty  God !     They  will  never  forget  this  sight  I  * 

"  He  then  took  me  in  his  arms  to  the  top  of  the  cabin- 
stairs.  We  were  in  a  tremendous  gale ;  the  waves, 
covered  with  white,  boiling  foam,  seemed  higher  than  our 
masts'  heads,  and  the  roar  of  the  ocean  was  truly  awful. 
The  laboring  ship  mounted  a  tremendous  wave,  and  then 
went  down  as  if  to  be  swallowed  by  the  angry  sea ;  but 
soon  she  rose  again  on  another  wave,  and  then  sank  to  rise 
again  and  again.  I  instinctively  turned  away,  and  grasp- 
ing my  father  round  the  neck,  implored  him  to  take  me 
down  to  mother.  I  was  so  terrified  that  he  did  not  think 
it  best  to  take  my  little  sisters  on  deck.  I  remember,  while 
he  stood  there  with  me  in  his  arms,  as  ^  turned  from  the 
sight,  he  urged  me  to  look  at  the  sea,  saying,  *  See  what 
a  powerful  God  our  God  is.  He  who  can  make  these 
waves  and  keep  them  within  their  bounds,  can  prevent 
their  dashing  our  weak  vessel  to  pieces ;  and,  if  he  chooses, 
he  can  say  to  them  at  any  moment,  Peace,  be  still,  and 
they  will  all  sink  away  and  lie  quiet  around  us.* 

"  One  day,  after  we  had  been  out  a  very  long  time,  it  be- 
ing beautifully  clear  and  calm,  the  sailors  sprang  into  the 
long-boat  and  rowed  round  the  vessel,  to  see  what  condition 
her  hull  was  in.  She  had  before  this  sprung  aleak,  so  that 
all  the  male  passengers  had  had  to  take  their  tm*ns  at  the 

6 


"""•'''mmmim 


)■■ 


fid 


OUHOAN  DUNBAB. 


pumps  to  l^eep  her  from  SQin^  Bat,  suddenly,  from  some 
cause  not  discoyered»  the  leak  had  stopped.  The  examin- 
ation revealed  the  cause.  They  found  the  whole  outside 
of  the  ship  covered  with  little  shell-fish,  called  barnacles. 
They  were  very  hard  and  glossy,  having  all  the  tints  of  the 
rainbow  intermingled,  like  t^ose  in  the  pearl-oyster.  The 
shells  were  so  closely  set  together  that  they  covered  the 
whole  sides  and  bottom  of  the  ship,  like  a  coat-of-mail, 
forming  a  mass  impervious  to  water.  This  was  what  had 
stopped  the  leak,  and  prevented  others.  The  sailors  picked 
off  several  barnacles  from  a  part  of  the  hull  where  they 
could  be  spared,  and  brought  them  on  board  for  the  passen- 
gers to  see.  Father  showed  them  to  us,  saying,  *  You  see 
how  God  can  bring  his  own  carpenters  and  ship-joiners 
across  the  ocean  with  him,  and  how  he  could  make  them 
work  without  even  the  sonnd  of  a  hammer  or  broad  axe. 
This  shows  that  God  means  to  save  us  from  the  angry 


y  it 


^:v  ■ ; 

-   ■? 

.  : -■;■"■*■ 

\^  - . 

: 

■W' 

:-' 

rom  some 


m^  :fc-- 


QHAPTEB  VI, 


.....  .^:     ,!;^.iAli;r 


Lukd  Ahtftd—Wnoked  <m  the  Otwat  of  Bcnirada— Klind  Aeocptkm— LmImm  ^ 

Preaching  on  the  Iiland. 

T  lengt>i  the  potatoes  foiled;  and  one  day  the 
capt8>i  told  the  p;->.saenger8  that  there  were  only 
enough  in  t]-  hold  to  supply  them  twenty-four 
hours  longer.  •'■  ^  ^s- 

^'  .A  rnid  the  sad  '.  rebodings  which  followed  this 
communica  Ion,  a  loud  cry  broke  from  the  sailors  on  the 
deck,  echoing  through  the  cabin  and  steerage, —  *  Land 
ahead  I     Land  ahead  I  * 

**  This  was  about  sunset.  The  news  was  too  joyftil  to  be 
believed,  until  several  gentlemen  went  up  as  far  as  they 
could  into  the  rigging  to  see  for  themselves.  Our  sound- 
ings also  proved  that  we  were  nearing  some  shore ;  but  the 
captain  feared  to  approach  lest  he  might  be  driven  on  the 
rocks  during  the  night. 

■'  The  flag  of  distress,  which  had  been  floating  for  months, 
was  first  descried  from  an  eminence  called  '  Si^al  Hill,* 
on  St.  George's,  one  of  the  Bermuda  Islands.  None  on 
board  could  tell  v^hat  land  we  had  in  sight,  neither  could 
the  sailors  guide  the  disabled  ship  into  the  harbor.  So, 
now,  afker  this  bright  dream  of  joy,  there  were  fears  that 
we  might  be  drifted  out  again  to  the  open  sea  before 
help  could  reach  us.  Lest  the  tattered  signal  of  distress 
might  not  b$  discerned,  they  hoisted,  in  addition,  red 

(61) 


mmm 


'ftibtM'iMottl.'^.; 


■^ 


52 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


shirts  and  blue  trousers  of  the  sailors  and  bright  garments 
of  the  httle  children. 

"  The  little  Independent  Church  on  the  island  had  been 
looking  daily  for  a  ship  from  England  bringing  a  mission^ 
ary  to  labor  among  them.  Some  pious  women  of  their 
number,  in  their  loving,  prayerful  watch  for  this  man 
of  God,  saw  our  signal,  and  at  once  hurried  to  report,  *  A 
wreck  in  the  harbor.' 

"  About  two  o'clock,  p.  m.,  on  Satm'day,  April  13th,  1821, 
one  hundred  black  mariners,  in  white  jackets,  put  off  from 
the  shore  and  came  to  us.  They  filled  two  long-boats,  and, 
by  fastening  ropes  to  our  vessel,  towed  her  into  the  harbor 
of  St.  George's,  the  most  easterly  of  the  group  forming  the 
Bermuda  Islands.  The  passengers,  for  sanitary  reasons, 
were  not  allowed  to  land  until  after  the  Sabbath ;  but  the 
inhabitants  could  not  wait  till  Monday  to  relieve  us.  They 
came  down,  bringing  fruits,  wines,  crackers,  with  every 
other  delicacy  they  could  procure,  directing  that  the 
clergymen,  of  whom  there  were  several,  with  their  fami- 
lies, should  be  first  served.  The  captain,  however,  through 
his  speaking-trumpet,  forbade  any  one  tasting  an  article 
without  his  orders,  as  the  least  imprudence  would  cost 
them  their  lives.  He  then  gave  each  one  a  quarter  of  an 
orange  and  a  teaspoonful  of  wine,  and  after  a  while  a  little 
more  wine,  with  a  bit  of  cracker,  repeating  this  until  the 
stomach  could  bear  the  :^ourishment. 

"  On  Monday,  the  passengers  were  all  taken  off  the  ship, 
and  borne  away  as  the  guests  of  the  sympathizing  people. 
The  ministers  were  taken  home  by  the  wealthiest  inhabi- 
tants of  the  island  and  entertained  Uke  princes.  I  remem- 
ber we  slept  in  beds  draped  wiih  the  richest  damask  hang- 
ing from  gilded  canopies,  and  ate  it  tablef»  laden  with  gold 
and  silver  service,  and  attended  by  many  blacks.     As  our 


i  (  .  i, 


-?*  >RBACHINO. 


H6» 


garments  were  nearly  al!  ruined  by  dampness  as  well  as  by 
the  wear  of  six  months  on  the  sea,  dress-makers  were  em- 
ployed, until  our  party  of  missionaries  going  to  the  Prov- 
inces were  fitted  oat  with  more  than  the  minister's  usual 
allowance. 

"  Our  dear  father  preached  many  times  there,  and  the  peo- 
ple flocked  round  him  to  hear  him  talk  of  divine  things.^ 

1  Mr.  Donald  McDonald,  an  early  and  dearly  beloved  friend  of  Mr.  Dun- 
bar, and  whose  hospitable  dwelling  was  his  home  while  in  Glasgow  on  the 
business  of  the  mission,  kindly  sends  a  letter,  written  after  this  terrible  pas- 
sage by  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Matheson,  a  fellow-passenger  on  board  the 
ill-fated  ship.  If;  is  dated  Sutter  Hall,  St.  George,  N.  B.,  the  residence  of 
ti.>  Hon.  Hugh  McKay,  a  warm  Mend  of  Mr.  Dunbar,  and  an  officer  of  the 
New  Brunswick  M»5<»ionary  Society. 

"Mr.  Dunb**  preached  several  times  during  our  continuance  on  the 
Island,  and  gave  universal  satisfaction  to  all  classes.  People  flocked  from 
all  quarters  to  hear  him,  and  much  praise  has  been  bestowed  on  him  by  the 
editors  of  the  Bermuda  journals  in  two  or  throe  of  their  numbers,  one  part 
of  which  is  as  follows  :  — 

'"Rev.  D.  Dunbar  preached  from  Genesis  xlix.  10.  "The  sceptre 
■hall  not  depart  from  Judah,  nor  a  lawgiver  from  between  his  feet,  till  Shi- 
loh  come ;  and  unto  him  shall  the  gathering  of  the  people  be."  It  was 
one  of  the  most  faithful,  interesting,  and  able  sermons  that  perhaps  was  ev- 
er preached  in  Bermuda.  What  made  it  so  interesting,  was  its  being  so 
happily  appropriate  ;  and,  what  was  far  better,  it  was  attended  with  the  di- 
vine blessing,  and  made  the  power  of  God  to  many  present.  The  congre- 
gation was  very  attentive,  and  deeply  affected  by  the  truths  they  heard. 
Many  could  say  with  one  of  old,  "  Lord,  it  is  good  for  us  to  be  here." ' " 

In  another  part  of  his  letter,  Mr.  Matheson  says :  "  By  the  instrumentali- 
ty of  our  godly  friend,  Mr.  Dunbar,  in  preaching,  exhortations,  and  prayer, 
a  passenger  in  the  cabin,  as  wicked  and  profane  a  person  as  ever  I  knew, 
was,  I  trust,  savingly  converted  to  Christ,  sometime  before  our  arrival  at 
Bermuda.  The  wonderful  change,  both  in  his  language  and  deportment, 
was  so  remarkable  as  almost  to  exceed  belief;  proving  the  hand  of  God  to 

be  In  the  work.  " 

•....*.,         .,_    ,-^.^. 

In  the  memoir  of  Mrs.  Winslow,  written  hj  her  son,  R«v.  OfttRvTui 

Winslow,  is  a  letter  from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cross  to  Rev.  John  Arundel  of  the 
London  Missionary  Society. 

"St.  Gborob's,  Bbrmuda,  June  30,  1821. 
"  I  am  happy  to  inform  you,  my  'loar  brother,  that  our  chapel  was  o;nned 


Wmttmmm.,. 


M 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


i  I 


"  **  When  the  wreck  was  towed  into  that  friendly  harbor, 
the  Bermadians  all  gathered  barnacles  from  her  sides  a* 


on  the  18th  of  April,  under  peculiar  circumBtances  of  delight  and  gratitude 
towards  Him  who  conducts  all  things  after  the  counsel  of  his  own  will. 

"  Previous  to  its  opening,  my  mind  was  a  great  deal  exercised  respecting 
the  service  of  that  important  daj.  I  had  no  brother  to  whom  I  could  any, 
'  Come  and  help  me ; '  I  stood  alone ;  and  my  feelings  often  orerwhelmed 
me.  My  fears,  however,  were  very  singularly  dispersed  by  our  kind  and  ever- 
gracious  God.  On  Saturday,  previous  to  the  18th,  a  ship  appeared  in  sight 
off  the  island,  hoisting  signals  of  distress  ;  and  a  report  was  soon  circulated 
that  she  was  fbll  of  passengers,  and  among  them  several  ministers,  in  a  state 
of  starvation,  six  months  from  Liverpool,  bound  for  New  York. 

"  On  Sabbath  afternoon,  the  ship  with  great  difficulty  came  within  anchor- 
age off  the  island.  Some  of  my  friends  went  on  board  with  provisions, 
<and  found  the  passengers  in  great  distress,  yet  filled  with  consolation,  and 
many  of  them  with  joy  and  peace  in  believing.  As  the  passengers  were  no 
strangers  to  the  language  of  Canaan,  my  friends  were  soon  introduced  to 
the  Bev.  Duncan  Dunbar,  a  Baptist  minister,  with  his  vriSo  and  three 
children ;  Rev.  Mr.  Grey,  a  Presbyterian  minister,  and  his  •vife  (to  us  par- 
ticularly interesting,  because  we  soon  learned  that  she  had  been  brought  to 
tlv^  saving  knowledge  of  the  truth  from  the  circumstances  of  the  voyage), 
an-;  Mr.  West,  a  teacher,  a  very  pious  young  man,  and  son  to  Rev.  Mr. 
West,  of  Dublin.  They  stated,  in  brief,  the  distressing  circumstances  to  my 
firiends,  who  would  not  then  listen  to  their  '  tale  of  woe '  before  they  came  for 
some  fresh  supplies  (circumstances  prevented  the  missionaries  from  landing 
on  the  Sabbitth,  and  my  duties  from  seeing  them  that  evening).  It  appeared 
they  had  been  at  sea  nearly  six  months ;  for  four  months  they  had  been  on  the 
allowance  of  five  potatoes  per  day,  and  for  three  weeks  had  had  scarcely  a 
drop  of  water  in  their  mouths.  Such  were  the  cries  of  many  of  the  children 
on  board,  that  they  had  been  obliged  to  deny  themselves  what  they  could 
obtain  only  from  the  clouds,  to  satisfy  the  thirst  of  the  little  ones.  They 
were,  however,  in  good  health ;  and  were  constrained  to  say, '  Though  we 
bave  had  nothing,  we  have  possessed  all  things.' 

"  The  divine  presence  had  evidently  blessed  the  labors  of  these  devofed  ser^ 
Tants  of  Jesus  to  the  hopeful  conversion  of  several. 

"  Early  on  Monday  morning,  I  went  off,  with  several  of  my  friends,  to  the 
•hip,  and  was  soon  in  fto  midMt  of  the  interesting  mission  family.  I  found 
them  perfectly  happy,  yea,  rejoicing  in  the  prospect  of  meeting  some  Chris* 
tian  friends  in  a  strange  (.x)untry. 

"  Daring  their  stay  with  us,  we  had  onr  new  chapel  opened ;  Mr.  Dunbar 
preached  In  the  momhig,  from  Genesis  xxviii.  17,  and  Mr.  Grey  in  the 


LETTERS. 


55 


curiosities,  and  it  was  said  that  in  spots  where  they  were 
taken  off,  a  strong  man  could  put  liis  foot  through  her 
timhers,  so  thoroughly  were  they  decayed.  She  was 
there  condemned,  and  sold  for  a  paltry  sum,  to  be  stripped 
of  her  old  iron.  It  will  be  wondered  at 'that  so  miserable 
a  craft  should  have  been  sent  out  on  a  winter  voyage,  so 
richly  freighted  with  human  hfe.     We  have  been  told  by 

evening,  from  Zechariah  xiv.  16, 17,  to  a  verj  full  and  attentire  congrega* 
tion.  The  collection  amounted  to  eighty  dollars.  Our  friends  remained 
with  us  nearly  three  weeks,  and  their  circumstances  and  labors  made  a  deep 
impression  on  many.  Every  day  endeared  these  missionaries  more  and 
more  to  the  friends  of  Jesus  in  this  place.  Fain  would  we  have  said, '  Abide 
with  us,  for  there  is  room  ; '  and  glad  would  they  have  been  to  say, '  We  will 
continue  with  you ; '  but  the  piercing  cry  of  the  red  men  of  the  woods, '  No 
white  man  teach  red  man,'  had  penetrated  their  hearts.  'For  these,'  said 
they, '  we  have  left  all :  and  for  these  we  must  leave  you.'  They  left  us  on 
Good  Friday,  and  we  are  daily  expecting  to  hear  of  their  arrival." 

Mrs.  Isabella  Holt  then  a  resident  of  the  island,  but  since  well  known 
in  New  York,  writes  from  Paris,  where  she  now  resides : 

"  I  was  not  at  home  at  the  time  of  their  arrival  in  Bermuda,  but  received 
from  my  own  honored  mother  all  the  particulars  of  that  deeply  interesting 
occurrence.  One  day  a  nearly  dismasterl  vessel  was  seen  approaching  our 
little  island,  sometimes  almost  going  into  the  breakers,  and  then  passing 
again  into  deep  water.  This  process  was  kept  up  some  time,  and  then  a 
boat  was  manned  in  our  beautiful  V^^th-  harbor  to  go  out  to  the  oild-Iooking 
craft  in  the  offing.  Among  tbo8<  v.  !;.>  volunteered  first,  were  two  youths 
of  seventeen,  John  T.  Fisher  i».ifl  my  own  dear  adopted  son,  William 
George  Miller,  afterward  pastor  of  a  B«iptist  church  in  New  York  city,  and 
subsequently  in  Essex,  Connecticut,  whence  he  departed  to  his  home  in  the 
city  of  many  mansions.  The  ship  was  found  without  a  rudder,  and  had 
been  six  months  at  sea,  a  good  deal  oi  tho  time  without  ru  .Jcr  or  proper 
masts,  drifting  hither  and  tiiither.  f)n  board  were  Rev.  Duncan  Dunbar 
and  family,  Rev.  Mr.  Grey  and  wife,  Mr.  West,  and  other  Presbyterian 
missionaries  to  the  British  Provinces.        . 

"  While  they  were  at  St.  (Jeorge's,  a  little  place  of  worship  bnllt  by  the  In- 
dependent church,  under  the  pastoral  cai-e  of  Rev.  Henry  Crosf  was  opened 
hy  my  beloved  brother  Dunbar,  who  endeared  himself  to  all  who  knew  him, 
in  Bermuda,  by  his  warm-hoartednoss. 

"  Not  one  of  that  little  church  now  lives  on  earth,  but  many  of  them,  I 
know,  live  in  heaven.' " 
6« 


mm 


iiAMii'Mm^i.ii; 


56 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


M. 


Miss  S.,  of  New  York,  a  kind  friend  of  our  fiither's,  whose 
father  was  a  fellow-passenger,  that  the  ship  was  finely 
fitted  up  and  well  insured,  although  wholly  unseaworthy, 
and  that  after  the  usual  time  out,  not  being  reported  as 
arriving,  the  policy  was  claimed  and  paid.  Eternity  will 
reveal  whether  or  not  the  love  of  gold  led  her  owners  to 
bring  these  awfiil  sufietings  and  perils  on  the  innocent  who 
trusted  in  their  honor.'* 


.'■^.1*':-      ^.    .'- 


/^Jv.  !*♦;!  -■ 


.-;,.  f  jl'lfji 

^/>»- 

;  i'-i*"-.  ■ 

i^kJ-^v-ijp.Vi'ife'^''* 

ti,  ^ii- 

■■'f 

,.....-. 

'-    :+%-      -,Jg>i:' 

^.    -i~<>v 

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,■>»>i^■■• 

, 

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.  ■'-,•' 

t*a, 

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■■  : 

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,.  . 

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*.*<*>. ,»|S!4f 

■   :  ..     • 

■:)■* 

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■,^1^< 


3r*8,  whose 
was  finely- 
seaworthy, 
reported  as 
ernity  will 
owners  to 
Locent  who 

St/A-  , 


^^  ■  ^^. . 
',>fi  'm't  "SAr 


^«;^ii7i5!«l  «a!J>t^J 


.iSKsaj' 


r'MK  .'5j?^-/; 


■«;«^  ^i(w: CHAPTER  VII.    &./»,■«#/ 


,;* 


^i'*';- 


Toyage  from  Bermuda  to  St.  John  —  St.  G«orge — B«newal  of  Putoral  Tork  —  Preaoluag 
in  ><  OmUo  "  —  Home-tilalB  in  the  New  World  —  His  Generosity  —  Letter  —  Oross* 
ing  the  Bay. 


^r»,;£jiX- 


•4<..K-~i . 


4in/:,:;&-  'sijyfc'.  m«v  *iJ 


FTER  leaving  Bermuda,  we  were  nearly  a  month 
in  reaching  St.  John,  where  we  were  most  cor- 
dially welcomed  by  the  friends  our  dear  father  had 
made  there.  Crowds  flocked  to  see  him,  urging 
him  to  remain  and  preach  to  them.  Strong  men, 
when  they  met  him  after  the  awful  perils  he  had  passed 
through  on  the  sea,  threw  their  arms  around  his  neck 
and  embraced  him.  Tiese  friends  did  all  in  their 
power  to  manifest  their  affection  for  him,  and  for  his  sake 
heaped  favors  on  his  family.  The  ladies,  knowing  that 
our  mother  was  to  begin  house-keeping  in  the  New 
World,  presented  her  with  many  articles  for  this  pur- 
pose. She  had  never  before  seen  a  patchwork  quilt, 
and  was  much  amused  by  the  various  combinations  of 
whi  ,  cotton  and  briglit  calico.  Several  of  these  were 
made  and  sent  her  as  presents  before  the  winter  set  in. 
One  of  these  fancy  articles  surely  deserves  a  place 
in  family  history,  as  it  assisted  in  educating  us  children. 
It  was  made  of  large  pocket-handkerchiefs,  .  ne  of  them 
printed  in  India  .;»  ,  and  others  in  red  anu  /iue.  They 
contained  the  whole  of  Burtr:'  *  Cotter's  Saturd.iy  Night,* 
with  pictures  repreacr  •  ?<;  each  scenr  In  the  bitU". 
winter  mornings,  while  the  fires  wi '.-  heing  ujade,  we 
three  little  girls   used   to  sit  up  in  bed  admiring   thestt 

(67) 


68 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


M 


pictures,  while  I,  the  only  one  competent  to  do  so,  spelled 
out  tiie  f  to?j  of  the  Iivome  scene,  where,  surrounded  by  hel 
chilviren, 

il. />      'The  jRiOther,  .vl'  ner  needle  and  her  sheais,  -. 

Gars  anld  claes  look  amidst  as  weel's  the  new ; 


'Bet  hark  i  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door, 

Jennfi?,  vi^  la  ktjs  the  meaiting  o'  the  same. 
Tolls  how  a  neebor  lad  came  o'er  the  moor 
To  ''-'  sotTi!^  errands  and  convey  her  hame. 

*Tbo  cheeifal  tiupper  done,  wi'  serious  fuse 
They  round  the  ingle  form  a  circle  wide ; 

The  sire  turns  o'er  wi'  patriarchal  grace 
The  big  ha'  Bible,  ance  his  father's  pride/ 


•>*?■■ 


But,  sad  to  tell,  every  verse  and  sometimes  every  line 
had  been  cut  into  to  form  *  Goosepath,'  or  *  Job's  Trouble ;' 
80,  where  the  last  word  of  a  line  was  gone,  we  had  to  guess 
it  om  by  the  rhyme.  '"    »     ,       w^.    v  tj.^ 

"  The  short  voyage  between  St.  John  and  St  George,  N. 
B.,  WBS  made  in  a  long  open  idat-boat.  Six  or  eight 
sailors  sat  at  one  end  rowing,  while  our  family  occupied 
the  other.  C^ir  dear  father  enlivened  the  time,  which 
would  otherwise  have  been  wearisome,  by  conversation 
with  the  sailors,  telling  them  ro^ry  incid*:ints  of  life  on  the 
sea,  which  had  come  under  his  own  notice,  and  asking 
about  their  differer^  experiences.  In  the  evening,  which 
was  one  of  the  brightest  moonlight,  he  sang  devotional 
hymns,  and  talked  to  the  men  of  those  things  which  would 
make  for  their  everlasting  peace.  M-j  '<  le  jiiiers  -<^"im  both 
aslo>. :  .,  but  I  entertained  mvself  ^^  utting  out  n  7  hands 
in  water  to  catch  the  lar^f  white  chiDs  which  came 
fl(  -  ^  down  the  river  from  the  ship-yards  on  either  side. 
At  was  long  pastmidr'ght  when  we  landed  on  asanjy 
'Mh  in  front  of  the  residence  of  Capuin  Mili';en,  where 


:'^-?'f  I 


PASTORAL  WORK, 


5^ 


father  had  promised  to  bring  his  family.  The  large 
house,  standing  on  an  eminence  very  near  the  water,  was 
lighted  in  every  part,  as  if  to  give  a  welcome  to  the  eye 
before  the  ear  could  hear  it.  A  most  bountiful  repast  was 
waiting  us,  and  nearly  all  the  church  were  gathered  there 
to  greet  their  beloved  pastor,  and  to  cause  his  sensitive 
wife  to  forget,  if  possible,  that  she  was  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land.  Notwithstanding  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
none  seemed  in  haste  to  go  to  their  homes.  They  sang 
hymns  and  offered  prayer  and  thanksgiving  to  God,  who, 
after  so  many  perils  and  such  long  separation,  had  brought 
pastor  and  people  together  again.  In  those  days,  when 
ministers  were  few,  people  were  hungry  for  the  gospel, 
and  rejoiced  at  sight  of  a  servant  of  God. 

"  I  remember  many  things  which  convince  me  that  my 
father's  labors  were  greatly  blessed  at  that  time.  People 
came  from  all  quarters  to  talk  with  him  of  the  concerns 
of  the  soul.  The  young,  the  gay,  and  the  wealthy  used 
to  come  by  night  to  tell  of  their  distress,  having  tried  in 
vain  to  drive  away  the  impression  made  by  some  sermon. 
Then  he  would  tell  them  it  was  the  Spirit  of  God  work- 
ing effectually  on  their  hearts,  and  would  warn  them  not 
to  grieve  the  Spirit.  Often  he  would  read  to  them  such 
portions  of  Pilgrim's  Progress  as  might  meet  their  case, 
and  show  them  the  way  in  which  God  leads  those  He  is 
drawing  to  himself. 

"He  had  much  in  his  own  experience  wherewith  to 
comfort  and  encourage  others,  having  passed  through  many 
and  strange  perplexities  in  coming  to  Christ.  He  used 
then  to  preach  four  times  en  the  Sabbath,  three  times  to 
his  own  people,  and  once  to  the  Highlanders,  who  came 
up  tlie  river  from  Masquerine  in  their  long-^boats  to  hear, 
at  the  close  of  the  morning-sermon  in  English,  the  gospel 


^frnrnum 


60 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


in  their  native  tongue.  Father  never  took  a  seat  at  table 
Sunday  noon,  but  stood  up,  taking  some  very  light  refresh- 
ment, and  hastening  back  to  meet  his  countrymen.  He 
spent  the  intermission  pressing  upon  them  the  necessity  of 
a  change  of  heart,  and  teaching  them  precious  truths  to 
which  they  were  strangers.  He  held  meetings  almost 
every  night  in  different  neighborhoods,  sometimes  at  long 
distances  from  home.  I  have  heard  him  say  that,  so  great 
was  the  desire  to  hear  a  sermon,  he  had  known  poor  women 
to  walk  five  miles  through  the  snow,  carrying  an  infant  all 
the  way  in  their  arms,  for  this  privilege.  Toward  the 
*  poor  Indians,'  as  he  always  called  them,  his  heart  was 
drawn  out  in  deep  pity  ;  and  he  preached  Jesus  to  them  in 
the  wigwam,  by  the  wayside,  or  in  his  own  home,  which 
latter  place  their  shrewdness  soon  showed  them  was  a 
grand  place  for  beggars  I  Our  dear  mother,  fancying  that 
they  were  still  hostile  to  the  pale-faces,  took  great  care 
never  to  offend  them,  while  her  kind  heart  prompted  her 
to  do  them  all  the  good  in  her  power.  I  well  remember 
their  frequent  and  protracted  visits,  and  the  great  incon- 
venience they  caused  in  the  kitchen.  As  many  as  six  have 
come  at  one  time,  and,  seating  themselves  on  the  floor, 
worked  on  their  beads  or  baskets,  and  nursed  their  pap- 
pooses,  as  if  feeling  quite  at  home  I  Preparing  a  comfort- 
able meal  for  the  family  was,  under  these  circumstances, 
no  trivial  undertaking.  If  father  was  in  the  house,  he 
would  go  to  them,  and  say,  '  Well,  brother,  sister,  what 
do  you  want  to-day  ? ' 

"  They  would  usually  replj ,  *  Ugh,  me  want  pork,  me 
want  Indian  meal,  me  want  tea,  me  want  sugar ; '  and  so 
on  to  the  end  of  the  list  of  humrr  ints ;  for  they  'Vere 
''ierv     dolent,  and  most  persisterit  ii  gg-t?. 

*'  ijui.or  would  .avv  iys  say,  '  Come,  mjther  dear,  share 


?MJi 


PASTOBAL  WORK. 


61 


rour  comforts  with  the  poor  Indian.  God  will  provide  for 
us ;  you  know  there  is  no  want  to  them  that  fear  him.' 
Then  he  would  ask  them  if  they  had  ever  heard  of  Jesus, 
who  came  from  heaven  and  died  on  the  cross  to  save 
the  poor  Indian.  He  would  try  to  show  them  that 
they,  as  well  as  white  men,  were  great  sinners,  and  needed 
this  great  Saviour.  They  usually  replied,  *  No,  no, 
brother,  me  good  Indian ;  me  no  steal ;  me  no  kill  white 
man  ;  me  hunt ;  me  fish  ;  me  be  very  good  I ' 

"  '  Ah,'  he  would  say,  '  you  want  everything  but  your 
greatest  need,  the  blood  of  Jesus,  to  cleanse  you  from 
your  sins.  Shall  I  go  to  your  wigwams  and  tell  you  more 
about  the  blessed  Saviour,  who  loves  and  pities  the  poor 
Indian  so  much  ? ' 

"  The}  would  stare  vacantly  at  each  other,  give  a  grunt, 
and  an  indifferent  nod  of  the  head,  fill  their  pipes,  and 
smoke,  with  thc'r  eyes  cast  on  the  floor  Often  did  he  go, 
on  these  meagre  ir  v  Itations^  lo  their  homes,  and,  with  a 
blanket  round  him,  ii  by  their  fires,  no  doubt  buying  their 
attention  with  presents,  while  from  the  abundance  of  the 
heart  his  mouth  spoke  of  Christ  and  salvation.  He  sailed 
with  them  in  their  canoes,  and  in  all  ways  so  -j}.  their 
confidence,  that  he  might  lead  them  to  the  Lamb  of  God. 
"  It  was  the  custom  of  our  fether,  when  going  from  home 
for  a  few  days,  to  take  one  of  us  with  him  for  company,  as 
well  as  to  Tol;>,i.  onr  dear  mother.  Well  do  I  remember 
his  teachings  at  these  times.  When  riding  through  the 
forests,  or  gliding  with  our  Canadian  pony  and  sleigh  over 
the  frozen  river,  instruction  and  amusement  were  most 
charmingly  blended.  He  would  tell  me  the  names  of  the 
trees,  and  the  various  uses  men  made  of  their  wood,  from 
the  cradle  to  the  coffin.  '  The  cross  on  which  our  blessed 
Saviour  hung,'   he   once   said,   'was   a   tree,  fi-esh,  and 

6 


62 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


young,  and  green,  like  one  of  these.  God  knew  exactly 
on  what  spot  of  earth  that  one  would  grow,  what  man 
should  cut  it  down,  and  for  what  purpose  it  would  be  used. 
He  knew  all  this  before  the  world,  with  its  mountains, 
rivers,  j»nd  forests,  was  made.  ^^^  ,s*  y.  -  -«,  ^t^ 
i:*  ti  Then  he  told  me  how  God  provided  for  people  in  coun- 
tries where  trees  could  not  grow  for  the  cold.  Fierce 
winds  would  blow  through  the  forests  of  Maine,  tearing  up 
great  trees  by  the  roots.  These  would  float  down  the 
rivers  and  be  carried  round  by  the  Gulf  Stream  to  Ice- 
land and  other  treeless  countries.  Thus  the  God  who 
made  them  grow  could  send  them  where  he  pleased,  on  his 
own  waters,  by  his  own  winds.  When  riding  on  the 
rivers,  he  used  to  tell  us  how  God  turned  the  waters  into 
ice,  that  we  could  cross  where  there  were  no  bridges,  and 
that  thi  trout  and  otht^r  fish,  which  liked  the  cold,  could 
come  to  us  in  place  o'  those  which  swam  off  to  warmer 
waters  ;  thus  giving  us  a  variety  for  food. 

**  Long  before  we  had  ever  heard  of  the  *  Botany,' 
*  Philosophy,'  or  *  Natural  History,'  over  which  we 
groaned  in  after  days,  our  minds  were  stored  with  pleasant 
lessons  in  many  of  the  sciences. 

**  How  does  the  sweet,  patient  face  of  our  beloved  mother 
rise  before  me,  as  she  passed  through  the  terrors  of  that 
first  northern  winter,  all  unused  as  she  was  to  domestic 
toil ;  and  often,  from  the  scarcity  of  servants  in  those  days, 
dependant  for  weeks  on  the  young  girls  of  the  congregar 
tion,  who  came  to  aid  her  for  love's  sake. 

"  Coming  as  she  did  fi-om  the  temperate  Lowlands  of 
Scotland,  we  can  hardly  realize  her  trials  here.  With  no 
stove,  furnace  or  range,  but  only  the  broad,  open  fire- 
place, —  the  bread  frozen  like  stone, — the  milk  a  solid  cake, 
and  eggs  like  balls  of  ice, — it  was  no  easy  matter  to  heat  a 


HIS  OENEBOSITT. 


house  and  prepare  a  warm  breakfast  for  a  family  of  little 
children.  Often  have  I  seen  her  shed  tears  at  this  time, 
when  speaking  of  her  home,  her  mother  and  her  sister ; 
but  I  know  they  were  not  tears  of  repining.  She  went 
bravely  to  the  work  before  her,  learning  and  practising 
those  domestic  arts  in  which  it  is  the  glory  of  American 
women  to  excel."     ^"  ""■^"^' '  - '' ■  ^"  -^'  '^^^  ^  '*  ■  *'"■■  ^^^^-'-^'m^^^i 


-*T 


K  i*<-fi 


'*:>:;>- 


J.f^'  ^>^:-:^ 


In  a  time-worn  book  of  memoranda  we  find  an  allu- 
sion to  a  visit  of  Mr.  D.  to  a  family  whose  father  had 
receivea  a  severe  wound  while  cutting  lumber.  To  his 
surprise,  he  found  them  in  straitened  circumstances ;  and 
his  heart  was  deeply  grieved  for  them.  He  remained,  at 
their  urgent  request,  to  tea ;  thus  showing  himself  the 
friend,  rather  than  the  patron ;  and  ofiered  them  those 
blessed  consolations  which  were  ever  uppermost  in  his 
heart.  But,  after  commending  them  to  the  never-failing 
compassion  of  Jesus,  he  could  not  leave  them  only  mying^ 


He 


says. 


t( 


"  Be  ye   warmed  and   be   ye   clothed." 
felt  constrained  to  give  them  a  guinea." 

The  people  of  the  Provinces,  at  that  time,  depended 
almost  wholly  on  England  for  their  family  stores  ;  it  being 
not  only  expensive,  but  difficult,  to  procure  them  from  the 
States.  At  one  time  the  supplies  were  very  low  in  St. 
George,  and  the  people  expecting  to  replenish  them  on 
the  arrival  oF  a  looked-for  ship,  belonging  to  Captain  Mil- 
iken.  After  long  and  anxious  delay,  news  came  that  she 
had  been  wrecked,  and  her  cargo  all  lost.  There  was  not 
a  little  perplexity  in  the  community,  as  the  winter  had  set 
in  with  all  its  provincial  severity,  making  it  almost  im- 
possible to  team  provisions  from  St.  Andrews.  There  was 
no  sugar  in  the  stores ;  and  the  sick  felt  the  need  of  this 


64 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


for  their  medicines,  &c.  "  Mr.  Dunbar,"  so  says  a  dear 
sister,  then  in  that  church,  and  now  enjoying  a  vigorous 
old  ago,  in  Eastport,  '^  had,  at  that  time,  a  barrel  of  sugar, 
which  he  at  once  began  to  divide  among  such  as  needed 
it,  whether  rich  or  poor.  Some  one  kindly  remonstrated, 
telling  him  he  would  need  it  in  his  own  family  before  the 
winter  was  over ;  when  he  replied  :  *  None  of  the  sick 
people  shall  want  sugar  as  long  as  there  is  any  in  my 
house  ;  and,  when  this  is  gone.  Captain  Miliken  will  come 
home  in  the  other  ship  with  more.'  And  so  it  was.  His 
bread  was  always  given,  and  his  water  sure  ;  and  the  days 
were  few  when  he  had  not  enough  and  to  spare  to  those 
who  needed."  ^ ' 

^  Nearly  all  those  early  friends,  who  loved  and  labored 
with  him  there,  have  preceded  him  to  heaven  ;  but  their 
children  live  and  remember  his  hand  upon  their  head,  and 
his  genial  smile  of  love.  Mrs.  McKean,  then  one  of  the 
lambs  of  his  fold,  writes  of  him :  "  Oh,  how  many  dear 
memories  are  called  up ;  but  they  are  like  those  of  a  pleas- 
ant dream,  too  indistinct  to  be  committed  to  paper.  I 
well  remember  the  interest  he  felt  in  the  poor  Millicite 
Indians,  who  lived  in  their  little  village,  a  few  miles  from 
Eastport,  on  the  Fassamaquoddy  Bay.  They  used  to 
come  to  St.  George  every  year,  in  their  canoes,  to  hunt, 
fish,  and  make  baskets.  He  also  visited  the  Mic  Mac 
tribe,  up  tlie  St.  John  river.  He  thought  of  taking  a 
little  Millicite  hoy  home  with  him  to  Scotland,  to  be  edu- 
cated ;  but  was  obliged  to  relinquish  his  plan  for  want 
of  means,  after  gaining  the  consent  of  the  parents. 

"  There  were,  at  that  time,  a  number  of  Scotch  High- 
landers living  near  the  mouth  of  the  Magquadavic  river, 
four  or  five  miles  from  the  village.  After  preaching  his 
«ermon  in  English,  he  used  to  repeat  it  to  the  Gaelic  por- 


OROSSINO  THE  BA^ 


65 


sn ;  but  their 


tion  of  his  hearers  in  their  native  tongue.  Although  I 
did  not  understand  a  word  of  it  myself,  the  eager  counte- 
nances of  the  men  and  women,  as  they  listened,  inter- 
ested me  greatly  ;  but  more  especially  did  the  singing  of 
the  psalms  in  Gaelic,  which  I  shall  never  forget.  Aged 
Highlanders  walked  between  thirty  and  forty  miles  to  see 
and  converse  with  Mr.  Dunbar,  from  the  parishes  of  St, 
James  and  St.  David,  not  far  from  the  St.  Croix  river,  so 
great  was  their  love  for  him  and  for  the  music  of  their 
mother  tongue.         ....*.      .  ....    ,.,--.„..,  *,»vw?"*.' 

"  It  was  under  the  preaching  of  your  beloved  father, 
that  I  received  my  first  religious  impressions.  Oh,  what 
earnest,  loving  appeals,  what  indefatigable  labors  were  his  I " 

His  labors  here  were  very  great,  among  his  own  people, 
and  those  almost  beyond  reach,  whom  he  had  adopted  into 
his  flock  ;  but  neither  weariness  nor  danger  had  power  to 
deter  him.  At  one'  time,  he  had  an  engagement  to 
preach  in  a  destitute  place,  —  probably  near  Eastport,  — 
which  he  mentioned  as  "  a  «?  the  bay."  The  waves 
ran  very  high  after  a  storn^  r  >*..  o  white  man  was  will- 
ing to  row  him  over.  Pru^.'irjce  omed  to  forbid  any  at- 
tempt at  fulfilling  his  pvoiiJ^':.  i.  _.  the  same  bold  spirit 
which  led  him  in  boyhooa  i.^ 
afterwards  to  dare  the  ghost-*  . 
now  impelled  him  on  in  a  better  cause.  By  the  offer  of 
half  a  guinea,  he  induced  an  Indian  and  his  squaw  to  row 
him  over  and  back  in  a  canoe.  When  about  half  way 
across,  their  pulls  at  the  oar  ceased,  and  the  canoe  came 
to  a  dead  stop.  The  waves  being  very  boisterous,  he 
concluded  they  were  resting  from  the  hard  toil.  They 
laid  down  their  oars,  folded  their  arms,  and  muttered 
some  mysterious  words  to  each  other ;  and  then,  with 
their  stolid  countenances  cast  down,  sat  perfectly  moticn- 

6* 


xhe  untamed  colt,  and 
the   Gaick  mountain. 


BUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


1 

iKllI 


less,  as  if  their  life's  work  was  accomplished.  Being  una- 
ble to  converse  with  them,  Mr.  Dunbar  tried  by  signs  to 
impel  them  forward ;  but  they  only  stared  at  him,  as  if 
wondering  at  his  earnestness,  and  muttered  again.  He 
tried  every  device  to  rouse  them,  and  had  begun  to  think 
he  should  lose  both  his  meeting  and  his  goId,*when  the 
stoical  oarsman  growled  out  all  the  English  he  probably 
knew,  —  *  More  money.'  Silver  was  offered ;  but  he 
shook  his  head  in  dogged  obstinacy,  never  relenting  till 
he  saw  another  piece  of  gold,  when  they  both  caught  up 
their  oars,  and  with  desperate  labor  brought  him  to  the 
shore.  His  audience  probably  never  knew  how  much  the 
privilege  of  preaching  the  go?pel  cost  him  that  night. 

"  When,  at  the  earnest  call  of  the  church  in  Nobleboro, 
Mr.  Dunbar  contemplated  leaving  St.  George,  his  breth- 
ren there  were  very  reluctant  to  part  with  him,  and  only 
yielded  to  the  plain  call  of  Providence.  A  friend,  not 
then  a  professor  of  religion,  said,  *  If  Mr.  Dunbar  i8 
going  away  for  a  more  comfortable  support,  I  will  cheer- 
fully give  him  one  half  my  farm  rather  than  part  with 
him.'  And  those  who  knew  him  believed  that  he  would 
do  it. 

"  After  his  departure,  a  strong  effort  was  made  to  induce 
him  to  return.  One  of  the  brethren  wrote :  *  I  have 
been  greatly  prospered  in  my  lumbering  operations,  and 
if  you*  will  come  back  to  us,  I  will  build  you  a  house  my- 
self.' These  incidents  show  not  only  what  large  hearts 
there  were  in  that  church,  but  also  how  deep  a  place  Mr. 
Dunbar  had  found  in  them." 

**  That  little  chuioh,  constituted  with  fourteen  mem- 
bers," writes  Deacon  John  Mann,  of  St.  George,  "  has 
now  (1866)  grown  into  five  gtjd  churches  in  the  re- 
gion." 


A^  -h-mM':  '¥M--&ii  'f 


;:». 


w>-< 


CHAPTER  Vm. 


een  mem- 


At  (0  Maine — Preaohes  at  the  Bowdolnham  Aaaooiatlon  —  Wana  Beeeption  then  •> 
Oritieism  of  the  "  Fathers." 

)R.  DUNBAR  remained  in  New  Brunswick  abont 
two  years  and  a  half  after  his  return  from  Scot- 
land. In  September,  1823,  he  visited  the  State 
of  Maine  as  a  Messenger  from  the  New  Bruns- 
wick Baptist  Association  to  the  four  Associations 
then  existing  in  that  State.  Rev.  David  Nutter, 
Ithen  of  Nova  Scotia,  now  of  North  Livermore,  Me.,  writes 
of  him :  "  I  met  with  Mr.  Dunbar  soon  after  landing  at 
Eastport,  and  we  travelled  together,  visiting  the  different 
Associations.  I  found  him  a  most  kind,  generous^  and  af- 
fectionate associate,  and  we  then  formed  a  friendship,  inti- 
mate and  strong,  which  I  trust  will  last  through  eternity. 
His  name  and  memory  are  still  most  dear  to  me.  .... 
Throughout  the  journey  his  labors  were  highly  appre- 
ciated, and  he  received  a  most  cordial  welcome  in  every 
church  where  he  preached." 

Mrs.  Catharine  H.  Putnam,  of  New  York,  an  early  and 
intimate  friend  of  Mr.  Dunbar,  and  for  many  years  an 
active  member  of  his  chiirch,  has  kindly  fiimish'.id  the  fol- 
lowing narrfitive  of  her  first  acquaintance  with  him,  when 
he  was  on  this  visit  to  Maine,  where  she  then  resided : 

"  I  first  met  Mr.  Dunbar  in  the  year  182?^,  when  he  came 
M  messenger  from  the  N.  B.  B.  Association.  A  meeting 
was  a})poJnted  (in  Brunswick),  the  evening  previous  to 

(«7) 


p 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


the  Association,  at  which  were  gathered  all  the  most  distin 
guished  ministers  of  the  denomination  in  the  State.  Somej 
of  us  were  prompt  in  making  choice  among  them  of  al 
preacher  for  the  evening  whom  we  most  desired  to  hear;! 
but,  to  our  great  disappointment,  a  quite  young  man,  —I 
he  was  then  thirty-two  years  of  age,  —  a  stranger  to  us  aU,! 
was  ushered  into  the  desk.  His  text  was  1st  John  iil 
10  :  *  And  if  any  man  sin,  we  have  an  advocate  with  the! 
Father,  Jesus  Christ,  the  righteous.'  I  recollect  none! 
of  the  special  points  of  his  sernjon,  but  he  had  proceeded 
only  a  few  minutes  before  our  attention  was  deeply  ab- 
sorbed, and  all  regret  at  the  selection  of  the  speaker  was 
dispelled.  His  discourse  was  throughout  a  iich  feast  of 
the  best  things  of  gospel  experience.  Every  Christian 
present  was  comforted  and  delighted,  —  all  wondering  how 
so  young  a  man  could  know  so  much  of  the  pjecious  things 
he  had  spread  before  us.     This  was  Mr.  Dunbar. 

"  There  appeared  to  be  but  one  mind  among  his  audience,  j 
and  several  warmly  commendatory  addresses  followed  the 
sermon.     It  was  a  season  of  general  rejoicing ;  and,  so  ] 
fickle  is  poor  human  nature,  many  among  us  were  now 
as  firmly  set  against  hearing  anybody  else. 

*'  The  next  day  the  subject  of  discussion  in  every  circle 
was  the  evening's  entertainment ;  and  when  inquiry  was 
made  who  was  to  be  the  preacher  for  the  next  evening,  and 
we  were  told  of  another  minister  who  had  been  appointed, 
we  all  joined  in  an  earnest  protest,  insisting  that  we  could 
hear  him  any  time,  and  Mr.  Dunbar  must  give  us  another 
sermon  just  like  the  last.  A  gentleman,  to  whom  this  was 
said,  ])romised  to  use  his  influence  to  have  us  gratified. 

*'At  the  hour  of  meeting  we  were  at  the  vestry,  secretly 
hoping  but  hardly  expecting  tliat  our  wishes  would  be 
regarded      It  was  with  surprise  as  well  as  delight  that 


PBEAGHES  AT  THE  ASBOCIATION. 


69 


we  saw  the  same  youthful  stranger  taking  the  desk.  I  do 
not  remember  his  text,  but  the  aim  and  design  of  the 
whole  discourse  was  to  condemn  the  preaching  of  the  doc- 
trines of  grace  I  The  speaker  said  we  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  decrees  of  God,  and  that  they  made  no  part  of 
the  gospel  which  was  to  be  proclaimed  to  sinners  ;  that  to 
;  talk  of  the  doctrines  of  election,  predestination,  effectual 
calling,  &c.,  discouraged  sinners  from  trying  to  be  Chris- 
tians ;  and  that  such  preaching  was  never  blessed  to  their 
conversion,  but  rather  hardened  them  in  unbelief  I 

"  When  he  closed  his  sermon  there  was  a  dead  silence 
for  a  few  moments.  The  venerable  array  of  gray-headed 
veterans  that  filled  the  pulpit  on  both  sides  of  tiie  preacher 
hung  their  heads  in  blank  dismay,  till  Mr.  Nutter,  the 
associate  delegate  with  Mr.  Dunbar,  arose  and  addressed 
the  audience.  He  said  he  had  listened  to  his  dear 
brother's  sermon  with  deep  regret ;  he  was  quite  sure 
that  if  he  understood  those  doctrines  which  he  had  so 
decidedly.,  and,  as  he  fully  believed,  so  honestly  «poken 
against,  he  would  rejoice  and  glory  in  them  as  the  very 
bone  and  sinew  of  the  gospel,  every  part  of  which  was  the 
power  of  God  unto  salvation. 

'  They  had  heard  his  dear  h^-other  assert  that  the  doc- 
trinen  referred  to  were  never  blessed  to  the  conversion  of 
sinners,  and  they  must  allow  him  to  bear  testimony  to 
liicts  which  stood  in  direct  opposition  to  this  assertion. 
His  own  church  in  Nova  Scotia  had  been  recently  visited 
hy  a  gracious  and  powerful  outpouring  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 
it  had  commenced  ukider  a  sermon  upon  election^  and  dur- 
ing many  months  the  general  tenor  of  the  preaching  was, 
without  concert  or  design,  of  a  strong  doctrinal  char- 
acter. 

"At  this  point  he  appealed  for  confirmation  to  an  aged 


m 


OI^NOAN.  PUNBAI^. 


minister,  who,  it  seems,  was  from  the  same  neighborhood, 
saying  that  the  numerous  converts  at  that  time  added  to 
his  church  were  the  fruit  o{  that  particular  part  of  divine 

"  The  events  of  this  evening  w©re  deeply  humbling  to 
us,  as  the  audience  was  made  up  largely  of  our  Methodist 
and  Free-Will  Baptist  friends,  who  were  not  a  little  sur- 
prised to  see  the  choice  weapons  of  our  warfare  so  turned 
against  ourselves. 

"  It  was  some  timo  this  that  Mr.  Dunbar  returned 

to  the  United  States,  '.na  JdLored  with  the  Second  Church, 
in  Nobleboro',  Maine^  w  called  the  Damariscotta  church. 
His  friends  in  Brunswick  continued  to  retain  a  special  re- 
gard for  him  as  a  man,  a  Christian,  and  a  preacher,  not- 
withstanding our  different  views  of  doctrine.  We  eager- 
ly availed  ourselves  of  every  method  of  intercourse  with 
him,  not  only  by  letter,  but  frequently  going  a  distance  of 
twenty  or  thirty  miles  to  hear  him  preach.  This  may 
seem  strange  to  some,  as  the  church  in  Brunswick  was 
considered  rigidly  tenacious  of  the  doctrines  of  grace. 

"  On  a  visit  to  Brunswick,  Mr.  Dunbar  spent  an  even- 
ing at  my  house,  and  as  he  regarded  me  as  maintaining 
what  he  considered  erroneous  views  of  doctrine,  he  took 
the  opportunity  to  exhort  and  entreat  me  to  coiisider  my 
ways  and  be  wise,  lest  I  should  make  shipwreck  of  faith 
and  a  good  conscience. 

"  He  said  he  regarded  my  views  of  doctrine  to  be  danger- 
ous in  the  extreme,  and  feared  they  would  lead  me  into  a 
dead,  careless,  and  barren  course  of  life  ;  that  I  needed  the 
stimulus  of  a  diligent  attention  to  duty,  —  a  conviction  that 
all  ray  comfort  and  usefiilness  depended  on  the  faithful- 
ness with  which  I  carried  out  my  obligations  as  a  Chris- 
tian. 


li. .  ti 


ANECDOTE. 


n 


•*  This  earnest  appeal  was  continued  for  many  hours. 
SometimeB  I  would  attempt  to  turn  the  current  of  his 
thoughts  by  begging  him  to  tell  me  where  he  discovered 
laxity  in  my  practice.  All  the  answer  to  this  was,  that 
he  knew  of  nothing  on  that  ground,  but  it  was  the  inevi- 
table cjnsequence  of  my  belief,  to  produce  such  an  effect. 

"  A  year  or  two  after^  he  was  called  to  labor  in  Ports- 
mouth, N.  H.,  in  the  midst  of  a  strong  body  of  Christians 
(so  called)  and  of  Freewill  Baptists.  From  the  great  suc- 
cess which  everywhere  attended  Mr.  Dunbar,  the  few 
Calvinistic  Baptists  of  the  place  were  sanguine  in  the  hope 
that  he  would  be  able  to  strengthen  their  cause.  Here 
was  a  new  service  for  the  young  mini,:ter,  whose  warm 
heart  had  little  room  for  anything  but  love  to  Christ  and 
his  people,  and  free  grace  to  rebellious  siimers.  He  now 
saw  that  he  must  be  able  to  defend  the  Baptist  ground 
of  faith  and  practice,  and  to  his  surprise  found  himself  un- 
able to  do  so.  Called  to  meet  the  arguments  of  those  who 
threatened  to  carry  captive  the  feeb.e  band  he  was  bound 
to  defend,  he  found  it  necessary  to  appeal  to  the  word  of 
God  for  weapons  that  were  more  effective  than  any  he 
had  at  command.  Hence  began  a  special  study  of  the 
Scriptures,  which  resulted  in  Mr.  Dunbar's  becoming  thor- 
oughly established  in  all  the  fundamental  doctrines  of 
grace. 

"  A  few  years  later,  while  he  was  pastor  of  a  church 
in  Chester,  N.  H.,  and  I  was  a  resident  of  New  York, 
lie  visited  me  at  my  home,  and  hardly  had  we  Inter- 
changed inquiries  respecting  the  health  of  ou^  two  families, 

when  he  said  to  me,  *  Sister  P ,  do  you  remember 

that  night  when  I  preached  so  long  to  you  ?  *  *  I  do,'  said 
I.  '  Well,'  said  he,  *  my  own  eyes  have  bet  'i  opened,  and 
1  now  understand  what  you  were  then  conteuding  for.'  " 


^ 


■.#Jl!*rWMS.^i#Sgfe 


,?■    tr^fj'-     %-    ^'^^Mf^f^^^'    %•»■**'    ^'ft*'^;^r    SI^^'-fHifSS*^  t^jWrit-^r: 


^':^0  (f'*-'-   '^' 


\^p?; 


CHAPTER  IX. 


.U      .«■:■■ 


FroTidential  Detention  In  Nobleboro*  —  Strong  Faith  In  God  —  A  Dead  Church  —  A  grwt 
Awakening  —  Resigns  his  Charge  in  St.  Oeorge,  and  accepts  a  Call  from  the  Second 
Nobleboro'  Church  —  Arduous  Labors  there — Results. 


'  HILE  on  his  visit  as  messenger  to  the  Maine 
Baptist  Associations,  Mr.  Dunbar  stopped  one 
night  for  rest  and  refreshment  at  a  country  tav- 
ern. Here  he  noticed  a  young  man,  who,  after 
looking  intently  on  him,  approached  and  asked  if 
he  were  not  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  On  being 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  learning  also  that  Mr. 
Dunbar  was  a  Baptist,  he  stated  that  he  was  a  student 
from  Waterville  College,  and  had  been  preaching  dur- 
ing the  vacation  in  Nobleboro',  where  the  Baptist  cause 
was  in  a  very  low  state,  and  that  his  heart  was  greatly 
moved  for  the  people.  In  the  picture  which  he  drew 
of  the  deadness  of  the  little  church  of  about  twenty 
members,  and  the  ruin  into  which  they  had  suffered  even 
their  sanctuary  to  fiill,  there  was  little  to  arouse  in 
their  behalf  the  zeal  of  one  imnatient  to  return  to  his 

A 

family  and  his  own  flock ;  but  still  the  student,  Mr. 
Dodge,  plead  for  "  only  one  Sabbath,"  and  at  length  pre- 
vailed. With  minute  directions  as  to  each  road  and  turn 
till  he  should  reach  the  place,  he  was  told  to  inquire  for 
Dea.  Hopkins,  who,  wit>i  his  family,  were  among  the  few 
that  were  mourning  over  the  desolation  of  Zion. 

It  was  late  at  night,  when,  cold  and  hungry,  Mr.  Dun- 
bar reached   the  farm-house   of  the   good  deacon.      He 

'Q2) 


Mi 


PROVIDENTIAL  DETENTION. 


73 


knocked  and  aroused  the  family,  who,  when  they  heard 
a  minister  had  come,  were  not  long  in  leaving  their  pil ' 
lows  to  greet  and  refresh  him.  Hearty  as  was  their  wel- 
come to  the  man  of  God,  it  would  have  been  increased 
tenfold  could  they  have  seen  the  breaking  cloud  and  the 
rising  beam  above  him. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  bright  fire  blazed  on  the  broad, 
old-fashioned  hearth,  and  then  the  family  heard  what  cause 
had  brought  their  guest.  At  this  seemingly  direct  provi- 
dence, their  hearts  were  greatly  cheered.  While  waiting 
for  the  kettle  to  boil,  the  good  old  deacon  said  to  his 
daughters,  "  In  the  meantime  you  may  sing  a  hymn  for  the 
elder ;  "  and  they  did  so.  We  know  nothing  of  the  style 
of  the  singing ;  in  all  probability  it  was  not  artistic ;  but 
we  do  know  that  the  air  and  the  words,  both  new  to  Mr. 
Dunbar,  struck  a  deep  chord  in  his  heart.  %•    •  *  * 

"  O  Thou,  in  whose  presence  my  soul  takes  delight,"       ^  ' .:    i. 

was  the  hymn  they  chose,  probably  because  it  met  their 
own  case.     When  they  came  to  the  words, 

"Oh,  why  should  I  wander  an  alien  from  thee, 
And  cry  in  the  desert  for  bread? 
My  foes  will  rejoice  when  my  sorrow  they  see, 
And  smile  at  the  tears  I  have  shed  ! "  ^ 


the  desolation  of  the  little  church  he  had  never  seen 
came  over  his  mind,  and  he  felt  a  strong  desire  that  her 
reproach  might  be  wiped  away.  A  great  part  of  the 
night  was  spent  in  singing,  conversation,  and  prayer. 
When  Mr.  Dunbar  retired  lie  soon  fell  asleep  from  weari- 
ness. But  ere  long  he  awoke  with  the  praises  of  God  on 
his  tongue,  and  his  heart  overflowing  with  love  to  dying 
souls.  His  first  impression,  on  waking,  was  that  some  one 
7 


^ 


DUNCAN  pyi}94R. 


bad  entered  his  chamber  with  a  light,  and  it  \fafi  r^t  until 
he  had  aroused  himself  and  looked  around,  that  he  was 
convinced  the  room  was  dark.  He  al.  lost  involuntarily 
exclaimed,  ,  ,  ,  .     >     ... 


i*dU  4' 


_^^:^*'t  <:■ 


"  How  can  I  sleep  while  angds  siqg,    . 
And  all  the  hosts  on  high 
Cry,  glory  to  the  new-born  King,  — 

The  lamb  that  once  did  die ; 
While  guardian  angels  fill  the  room, 

And,  hovering  round  my  bed, 
Clap  their  glad  wings  in  '^-aiso  of  Him 
Who  is  their  glorious  Vf^  -d ! " 


He  was  overpowered  with  the  view  be  then  had  of  the 
great  value  of  the  immortal  soul,  and  amazed  :hat  he,  a 
sinner  saved  by  grace,  could  lie  down  and  sleep,  while  be- 
ings who  had  never  sinned  were  tuning  their  harps,  day 
and  night,  to  the  wonders  of  redemption.  He  thought  of 
the  days  when  his  own  eyes  were  first  opened  to  the  realities 
of  the  world  to  come,  and  of  the  anguish  he  endured  on 
account  of  his  sin  against  a  just  and  holy  God ;  and  also 
of  the  hour  of  his  deliverance,  and  the  joys  of  forgiveness. 
And,  as  he  lay  sleepless,  the  remainder  of  the  night,  he 
had  such  views  of  the  compassion  of  Jesus  for  dying  man, 
and  his  readiness  to  answer  the  prayers  of  his  own  chosen 
ones  on  their  behalf,  and  such  strong  faith  in  the  promises 
of  God,  that  he  fait  an  assurance  in  his  heart  that  God  was 
to  give  him  souls  for  his  hire  among  these  strangers. 

A  person  of  weak  faith,  inclined  to  "  judge  the  Lord 
by  feeble  sense,"  would  have  sufiered  a  fearful  fall  from 
such  a  spiritual  height  on  entering  the  meeting-house,  the 
following  morning.  It  wa£>  almost  empty.  Satan  might 
have  tempted  one  less  familiar  with  his  devices,  to  look 
upon  the  assurances  of  the  past  night  as  the  delusions  of  a 
half-formed  dream.     But  neither  the  neglected  sanctuan' 


GREAT  AWAf[fiNINO. 


had  of  the 

:hat  he,  a 
),  while  be- 

harps,  day 
thought  of 
the  realities 
ndured  on 
;  and  also 
orgiveness. 
3  night,  he 
lying  man, 
iwn  chosen 
e  promises 
it  God  was 
gers. 

the  Lord 
1  fall  from 
-house,  the 
itan  might 
es,  to  look 
asions  of  a 

sanctuan' 


nor  the  small  audience  had  power  ko  shake  Mr.  Dtmbar's 
confidence  in  what  he  had  taken  as  the  promise  of  God, 
He  preached  in  the  morning  from  Mark  v.  6-17,  with 
great  earnestness.  During  the  intermission,  it  was  noised 
about  that  a  Scotchman,  with  a  broad  accent,  was  to  preach 
in  the  afternoon,  and  a  much  larger  number  were  present. 
He  spoke  again  in  the  evening  to  a  good  congregation,  and 
there  were  th«i  tokens  of  the  Spirit's  presence.  At  the 
close  of  the  meeting,  some,  who  had  Uved  hitherto  regard- 
less of  religion,  confessed  that  they  were  sinners,  and  asked 
to  be  pointed  to  Christ.  The  church  began  to  awaken. 
They  saw  how  the  Saviour  had  been  wounded  through 
their  inconsistencies.  They  confessed  their  sins,  and 
asked  pardon  of  each  other  and  of  God.  They  plead  with 
Mr.  Dunbar  to  remain  with  them  a  few  days,  to  visit  and 
preach.  He  did  so,  and  received  cheering  tokens  that  his 
labor  was  not  in  vain.  A  work  of  grace  then  commenced 
which  has  rarely  seen  its  equal.  In  the  midst  of  this,  he 
was  obliged  to  return  to  his  home  and  family,  to  make  ar- 
rangements for  accepting  the  call  of  this  churcli ,  Three 
persons  were  baptized  in  his  absence,  probably  by  a  Mr. 
Everett,  who  supplied  the  church  in  the  meantime.  Mr. 
Dunbar  rc'turned  to  Nobleboro',  December  2,  1823,  and 
between  that  time  and  July,  1825,  eighty-eight  were 
added  to  the  church  by  baptism.  A  great  many  afterward 
dated  their  convictions  back  to  this  time.  Tliis  work  was 
one  of  great  power,  people  flocking  from  all  quarters  to 
hear  the  preaching  and  to  witness  the  manifestations  of  the 
Spirit.  Business  was  in  a  gi'eat  measure  suspended,  and 
household  cares,  as  far  as  possible,  laid  aside,  that  the  time 
n  ight  be  given  to  the  work  of  the  Lord. 

Mr.  Dunbar  made  his  home  at  the  houses  of  Ool.  John 
Glidden   and   Mr.  Nathaniel  Clapp,  dnring  the  winter; 


.«WtottMMlMMNMW 


76 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


the  ciOvvds  who  came  to  converse  with  him  affording  these 
Mends  ample  field  for  the  largest  hospitality.  In  those 
days  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  warm  a  large  house  at  short 
notice.  It  being  necessary  to  do  this  so  often,  Col.  Glidden 
purchased  a  quantity  of  bark  for  the  purpose,  and  not 
seldom  did  its  glow  brighten  every  hearth  of  that  hospi- 
table mansion,  while  Mr.  Dunbar  would  pass  from  room  to, 
room,  speaking  and  praying  with  the  groups  gathered 
round  the  different  fires.  Mrs.  Glidden,  who  still  lives, 
well  remembers  those  blessed  days,  and  says  that  when 
nature  could  endure  no  longer,  Mr.  Dunbar  sank  exhausted 
and  suffering  from  sore  throat  and  hoarseness.  He 
was  ordered  to  his  chamber  for  rest  and  quiet ;  but  this  last 
command  was  more  than  she,  with  all  her  kind  care,  could 
enforce.  When  he  heard  voices  below,  he  would  say, 
"  Just  let  this  one  come  up,"  until  his  room  would  be  filled, 
while  he,  sitting  up  in  bed,  would  preach  as  earnestly  as 
if  in  hi^  pulpit. 

So  evidently  was  the  Spirit  of  God  with  him,  that 
neighboring  ministers  used  to  beg  him  to  visit  their 
churches,  which  he  sometimes  did,  until  the  people  of 
Nobleboro'  began  to  be  troubled  when  they  saw  him 
riding  on  horseback,  late  in  the  week,  lest  he  might 
be  leaving  them  over  the  Sabbath.  They  felt  that,  in 
6uch  drcumstances,  no  one  could  fill  his  place. 


•■•Mt 


f    ► . 


•t'ff'  -fi: 


^?' 


-^^i^S»i^  i 


,    CHAPTER 


1*  A, 


res  his  Family  to  Nobleboro*  — A  UinisteT's  Wife  in  the  Almshouse— The  HonM 
jermon — Qoea  to  South  Berwictc,  on  Exchange  —  A  great  Rerival  —  Letter  to  Fred* 
erickton  —  Resigns  his  Charge  in  Nobleboro' —  Is  recalled  —  Letters  pressing  his 
Return. 

m  the  following  spring  Mr.  Dunbar  removed  his 
family  from  one  kind  home  to  another,  it  being 
very  evident  that  the  Lord  had  appointed  his  labor 
in  Nobleboro.'  Soon  after  his  settlement  here,  he 
attended  an  Association  at  some  distance,  where  the 
delegates  were  most  hospitably  entertained  by  the 
thrifty  farmers  of  the  region.  At  the  close  of  the  session 
a  resolution  of  thanks  was  passed  for  the  generous  enter- 
tainment, &c.,  when  a  good  brother  of  the  church  rose 
and  said :  "  It  may  not  be  known  to  the  brethren  that  the 
widow  of  our  faithful  old  pastor,  who  labored  with  us  so 
long,  is  still  living.  She  is  now  an  inmate  of  the  poor- 
house,  and  I  thought  that  if  the  friends  would  take  up  a 
little  collection  to  supply  her  with  such  comforts  as  the 
town  does  not  provide,  it  would  gratify  her  very  much, 
especially  to  know  that  she  was  not  forgotten  by  you." 
There  was  a  moment's  pause,  when  Mr.  Dunbar's  voice 
was  heard,  exclaiming,  in  a  tone  of  great  surprise,  "  Surely, 
dear  brethren,  my  ears  deceive  me  !  Did  the  good  brother 
say  '  that  the  widow  of  the  man  who  built  up  this  church, 
who  toiled  for  their  good,  who  prayed  at  their  sick  beds 
and  at  their  funerals,  under  whose  ministry  they  were  con- 
verted, and  by  whose  hands  they  were  baptized  —  did  he 

7  «  (77) 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


1.0 


1^128    |2^ 
Mi  Ui   122 

1.1   ^.-^Ka 


11.25 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRIGT 

WIUTIR,  N.Y.  MSM 

(714)  •73-4903 


■^v^ 

V 


0 


^ 


? 


1^ 


;\ 


\ 


73  DUNCAN  DUNBAR.     / 

say  that,  amid  all  this  plenty  Bxt^  prosperity,  this  man's 
widow  had  been  sent,  to  wear  out  her  few  remaining  days 
in  the  almshouse  ?  " 

There  was  a  deep  silence,  when  he  repeated  the 
question,  *^  Did  I  understand  the  brother  ?  "  The  deacon 
then  rose,  with  some  embavrassmeat,  and  said,  that  as  she 
had  no  friends,  and  the  church  were  not  able  to  support 
her,  she  had  gone  there  as  a  last  resort. 

This  was  too  much  for  Mr.  D.*s  keen  sensibihties,  and 
he  said,  "  Well,  dear  brethren,  I'm  glad  for  one  ♦hat  our 
session  is  over,  for  I  want  to  go  home.  I  don't  want  to 
stay  in  a  town  where  they  put  ministers'  widows'  in  the 
poor-house.  Surely,  dear  brethren,  we  ministers  hive 
anxieties  and  trials  enough  with  labor  and  poverty,  ynihf 
out  aiding  the  fear  that,  after  all  this  sacrifice  for  your 
sake  and  Christ's,  you  will,  when  we  are  worn  ^ut,  make 
our  wives  town-paupers  I  Brethren,  you  all  know  that 
I  am  not  rich  ;  but  I  am  pastor  of  a  flock  that  would 
not.  wink  at  such  a  thing  as  this  ;  and  let  me  say  that  I 
shall  not  leave  this  town  while  that  minister's  widow  is  an 
inmate  of  tlie  almshouse  I  If  no  one  else  takes  her  out,  I 
will  do  it  myself.  I  will  take  her  home  to  Damariscotta 
in  my  own  chaise,  and  I'll  find  plenty  there  who  will  give 
this  dear  mother  in  Israel  a  seat  at  their  fireside  fbr  a  few 
days  till  God  comes  to  take  her  home.  Am  I  right,  dea- 
con ?  "  he  asked,  looking  toward  his  associate  from  Noble- 
boro'.  The  good  deacon  nodded  assent,  and  Mr.  Dunbar 
continued,  **  Well,  then,  my  dear  brethren  of  this  church, 
Sister  — —  goes  with  us  to-morrow,  unless  she  is  at 
once  provided  with  another  home."  ,  |^.^^  h  ^^^ 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  church  saw  the  reproach 
which    thoughtlessness,     rather    than     parsimony,    had 


^  VU 


Ui'*'- 


).  .♦«      {..i^^-i-*: 


THE   HORSE  SE&MON. 


19 


brought  upon  them ;  and  before  the  delegates  left  town 
the  widdw  was  provided  with  a  comfortable  home. 

At  another  meeting  of  an  Association,  there  were  so 
many  delegates  that  stabling  could  not  be  provided  for  all 
their  horses,  and  many  were  put  into  pastures.  Unfor- 
tunately, that  of  good  old  Father  H.  got  "  cast "  in  the 
field,  and  diedi  This  was  a  great  loss  to  the  good  man, 
who  was  very  dependent  on  his  horse  for  visiting  and 
preaching  in  the  scattered  districts  of  his  rural  charge. 
Mr.  Dunbar  was  announced  as  the  preacher  for  the  even- 
ing ;  and  it  was  stated,  that,  at  the  close  of  that  meeting, 
a  collection  would  be  taken  up  to  aid  Elder  H.  in  replac- 
ing the  horse  accidentally  killed.  With  that  readiness 
tor  which  Mr.  Dunbar  was  so  peculiar,  he  announced,  as 
his  text  in  the  evening,  "  And  he  set  him  on  his  own 
beast."  Luke  x.  34.  Of  course,  no  sketch  can  be  given 
of  the  sermon  at  this  late  day  ;  but  an  aged  minister  of 
Maine,  who  heard  it,  says  it  was  very  interesting  and  in- 
structive ;  and  the  result  proved  that  it  was  powerful  in 
accomplishing  the  end  in  view.  Among  other  things,  the 
preacher  showed  how  dependent  the  best  and  wisest  men 
often  are  on  the  humblest  instrumentalities  in  their  Ial>urs 
for  others.  '*  What,"  he  asked,  "  could  the  good  Saniaritan 
have  done  for  the  man  who  fell  among  thieves,  whom  he 
found  lying  wounded  and  half  dead  by  the  wayside,  had 
he  been  without  the  iuitliful  dumb  servant  that  bore  him 
to  the  inn  ?  He  would  not,  indeed,  have  passed  by  on 
the  other  side ;  fbr  there  was  no  such  selfishness  in  him. 
He  would  have  poured  oil  and  wine  into  his  wounds; 
but  still,  he  would  have  been  obliged  to  leave  him  where 
he  found  him.  And  what  can  the  piety  and  love  and 
%al  of  our  dear  brother  H.  do  for  the  scattered  and  suf- 
fering ones  in  his  fold,  if  he  cannot  reach  them  ?     And 


■misitaiifiltimiitiit»llimiM.::<-i<-^*^',' 


T 


80 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


Burely  he  cannot  do  so,  in  his  old  age,  without  a  horse." 
Then  he  portrayed  a  poor  family,  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
congregation,  into  which  poverty  and  sickness  had  come, 
and  wliere  death  was  hourly  looked  for.  They  had  no 
horse  to  send  foV  the  servant  of  God  to  come  and  pray 
with  them ;  and  perhaps  one  of  the  little  ones  is  de> 
spatched  on  a  weary  walk  to  plead  for  a  visit.  By  and  by 
they  begin  to  look  from  the  window  and  to  go  often  to 
the  door,  with  the  restlessness  natural  in  all  such  cases,  to 
see  if  the  minister  is  not  coming.  After  a  little  time,  a 
child  is  sent  up  to  the  top  of  a  hill  to  look  off  into  the 
distance  for  the  minister's  horse,  —  everybody  knows  that 
horse, — but  he  comes  back  to  disappoint  their  hopes. 
"  Brethren,  all  such  families  will  henceforth  look  in  vain 
for  brother  H.  to  preach  in  their  school-houses,  or  to  pray 
by  their  death-beds,  unless  you  make  up  his  loss." 

Sufficient  money  was  collected  for  the  purchase  of  an- 
other "  beast."  .*  '  -    ";  -  '        >.  .  i-.? 

In  July,  1825,  Mr.  Dunbar  went  to  South  .vick,  on 
an  exchange,  when  a  rehgious  interest  was,  awakened 
which  prevented  his  immediate  return  home.  He  could 
not  leave  the  work  thus  thrown  on  his  hands ;  so  an 
arrangement  was  made  with  the  I'Jnister  of  South  Ber- 
wick for  continuing  the  exchange.      .»,  *Jt  ^^i  m 

The  church  in  this  town  was  now  very  feeble,  and 
their  place  of  worship  small.  But,  humble  as  it  was,  it 
became  the  honored  birthplace  of  many  souls,  "  the 
house  of  God  and  the  gate  of  heaven."  During  the 
thirteen  weeks  of  this  first  visit,  twenty-nine  were 
baptized.  Having  returned  to  his  charge  in  Nobleboro'  to 
spend  two  or  three  Sabbaths,  he  went  back,  and  the  Lord 
still  blessed  his  labors.     But  we  have  been  unable  to  as- 


i,'^Uft. 


LETTER  TO   FREDEBICKTON. 


81 


certain  the  whole  number  of  conversions  daring  this 
visit. 

In  a  letter  to  an  esteemed  friend  in  Frederickton,  N.  B., 
Mr.  Jarvis  Ring,  who,  in  behalf  of  his  brethren,  had  ear- 
nestly solicited  him  to  become  their  pastor,  Mr.  Dunbar 
writes,  under  date  of  South  Berwick,  Oct.  25th,  1825 : 
"  After  I  read  your  last  letter,  and  found  you  were  still 
destitute  of  the  means  of  grace,  I  felt,  more  than  ever, 
anxious  to  run  to  your  relief ;  and  when  I  found  that  my 
return  to  this  place  again  was  necessary,  I  begged  of  the 
brethren  at  Nobleboro'  to  relieve  me  from  ray  obligations 
to  them ;  to  which  they  consented,  after  I  directed  them 
to  a  minister,  who,  I  believed,  would  answer  in  my  place. 
My  object  in  taking  this  step  was  that  I  might  be  at  lib- 
erty, after  the  revival  should  cease  here,  to  go  and  spend 
some  time  with  you,  if  you  should  still  be  destitute.  I 
am  now,  therefore,  free  from  all  engagements  with  any 
people,  except  that  my  conscience  and  a  sense  of  duty 
bind  me  to  stay  here  till  the  Lord  has  finished  his  present 
work."  But  this  was  not  in  God's  plan,  and  he  never 
went  to  Frederickton.  ••   ^v— .  v*  .....  ».^,.i.4 

The  church  at  N.  were  at  first  exceedingly  reluctant  to 
comply  with  Mr.  Dunbar's  request,  indicated  in  the  above 
letter,  and  were  only  brought  to  consent  to  it  by  a  tender 
regard  for  his  conscientious  wishes. 

Between  him  and  them  a  warm  affection  ever  existed, 
as  was  shown  by  their  recalling  him  to  their  pastorate 
at  the  end  of  the  first  year  after  he  left  them,  and  again 
fifteen  or  twenty  years  later. 

From  the  many  kind  and  pressing  letters  which  urged 
his  return,  we  select  the  following,  from  an  old  sea-cap- 
tain, as  quite  fresh  and  characteristic : 


;-iii»*'S45«fe««SS«.ia(«BBi»-:»'  v.-^:. 


DUNCAN  DUNBl^. 


« IffofiLEBORo'.Feb.  8,  I84f.^'- 
"  Elder  Dun  bar, 

"  I>eat  Sir,  —  With  much  pleasure  I  embraxse  this  op- 
portunity to  inform  jou  that  my  ^mily  and  all  our  friends 
are  wdQ.    -         •■'-:n 

V**  The  year  has  rolled  round,  and  we  have  no  minister. 
We  are  in  want ;  our  ship  is  on  the  leenshore  ;  we  want 
a  pilot  to  beat  her  to  windward,  among  quicksands  and 
rolling  stones,  into  the  right  channel  once  more ;  and  we 
think  that  we  wish  for  no  other  than  the  old  pilot  that 
showed  us  first  the  channel.  We  wish  to  sail  with  him 
to  the  new  land  that  flows  with  milk  and  honey.  By 
God's  permission,  dear  sir,  we  want  you  and  we  want 
your  family  in  this  place.  You,  by  God's  permission, 
planted  a  dear  church ;  and  we  want  jou  to  come  and 
dig  about  it,  and  bring  it  to  the  harvest.  Bon't  fail  to 
come.    Oome  to  my  house  first. 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

f^'^-i;  "Francis  Tuffs.** 

'i, js  .       "''  " .' 

Good  old  Deacon  Chamberlain,  of  the  same  church, 
was  also  very  anxious  for  his  return  ;  and  we  judge  his 
righteous  soul  might  have  been  a  little  vexed  by  the  di&* 
appointment  of  his  hopes,  for  he  writes  :  ,  r.^' 

"  Unless  you  come  back  as  our  pastoTy  I  hope  you  will 
not  come  to  visit  us  till  we  settle  one :  for,  if  you  do,  we 
shiJl  never  be  able  to  unite  in  mother." 


V-^"^  11- 


'r  A- 


,,!-<-'"f,",Aj,f,  i^»;u,'>  '^'M  '  " 


f  ■ 


m^- 


*Q' 


't^.M-^mi-'^ 


.>.., CHAPTER  XI, 


"ow*.  ■**•       '4K'>ji#;iA*>*'  ■■ 


fiji;''^'  ,  ;i,i^uii«a  ■ -M  -'-.^ 


BamofM  to  Portonoath,  N.H.  — Pnrioiu  Xflbrta  to  MteUiAi  %  Bapttot  Ohnnh  than— 
8troBg  OoettfaMil  PnaAhiog  —  OpposMon  tma  **  OhiMiaiu,"  and  OalTlnitt  Bi^tM 
Ohoicb  FonaBd  —  IndtpcBdent  QnngnvMcmid  Ohvaeh  cmbiMM  Bi«tM  YUma  — 
Tnvlto  him  uid  hla  People  to  unite  wiOi  them  —  Helpen  raised  up  —  Beaigns  hi* 
Ctaaige  —  Banovas  to  Oherter,  N.  H.  —  A  Perilinu  AdTODtim  —  VM«B  New  Todc — 
OaUed  to  the  Tint  BnNddljn  and  tba  Mortl^  BnUb.  (TaodMi  gtnet,  New  Y«ik) 
Ohmolua. 


^N  January,  1826,  Mr.  Dunbar  removed  his  fiiinily  from 
Nobleboro*  to  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  at  what  he 
deemed  the  call  of  Providence,  leaving  a  people 
from  whom  neither  time  nor  distance  ever  weaned 
him,  and  going  forth  to  break  new  ground,  with  few 
helpers,  where  his  income  would  be  small  and  his  ex- 
penses large,  and  where  the  obstacles  to  success  seemed 
very  great.  Mr.  L.  W.  Brewster,  of  Portsmouth,  has 
kindly  fiirnished  the  following  interesting  sketch  :  — 

"  The  church  to  which  Mr.  Dunbar  came,  was  es- 
tablished by  Eliaa  Smith,  in  1802,  and  was  styled,  ♦  The 
First  Baptist  Church  in  Portsmouth.*  Mr.  Smithes 
change  of  views  to  those  which  are  now  peculiar  to  the 
'  Christian '  denomination,  found  many  followers  here, 
and  his  sentiments  were  adopted  by  his  church  as  a  body. 
In  1825,  however,  there  being  considerable  diversity  of 
belief  on  doctrinal  points,  and  much  trouble  in  obtaining 
suitable  ministers,  the  society  was  in  a  state  bordering  on 
dissolution.  •    » 

"  At  this  time  a  conference  was  held  between  the  stand- 
ing committee  of  the  society  and  brethren  Samuel  Cleavet 

(8a> 


84 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


and  E.  C.  Crane,  representatives  of  the  Calvinistic 
Baptists  in  Portsmouth,  which  resulted  in  a  union  of 
effort  to  maintain  the  e^'stence  of  the  church,  by  ap- 
plying to  the  Massachusetts  Baptist  Missionary  Society 
for  patronage.  This  being  done.  Rev.  Lucius  BoUes,  D.  D., 
of  Salem,  Mass.,  visited  the  church  as  a  delegate  from 
that  society,  to  inspect  the  field  and  learn  the  exact  state 
of  affairs.  The  result  of  his  visit  and  investigation  was  the 
sending  to  Portsmouth  of  Rev.  Mr.  Merriam,  a  Calvinistic 
Baptist,  who,  for  some  months,  supplied  the  pulpit.  Upon 
beginning  his  labors,  Mr.  M.,  for  a  few  Sabbaths,  overlooked 
many  of  the  irregularities  which  had  been  licensed  under 
the  previous  dispensation.  But  he  very  soon  began  to 
break  up  the  fallow  ground  and  to  institute  a  reform.  It 
had  been  customary  to  attend  church  or  not  as  feelings  or 
inclination  prompted  ;  to  come  early  or  late  as  might 
happen  ;  and  to  go  out  at  any  period  of  the  services  with 
the  utmost  freedom.  These  faults  were  severely  rebuked, 
and  soon  the  decencies  of  church-going  etiquette  began  to 
be  generally  observed,  and  a  regular  and  respectful  con- 
gregation listened  to  the  services  throughout.  4*:*.*^ 

"  After  the  close  of  his  labors,  Mr.  Dunbar  came,  and  the 
impress  of  his  preaching  and  example  here  is  ineffaceable. 
The  years  that  have  crowded  between  us  and  him  have 
only  exalted  him  to  our  view  as  a  God-sent  pioneer,  who 
came  in  the  spirit  of  Elijah.  Holding  firmly  the  tenets 
of  Calvinism,  and  uttering  them  without  restraint,  he 
turned  his  double-edged  sword  of  election  and  the  Trinity 
with  a  strong  and  fearless  hand  against  the  opposing  doc- 
trines. It  is  not  surprising  that,  in  such  a  congregation  as 
his,  his  preaching  should  be  obnoxious  to  quite  a  number. 
One  Sabbath  forenoon  he  preached  firom  the  text.  Acts 
xziy.  14 :  *  But  this  I  confess  unto  thee  that,  after  the  way 


OPPOSITION. 


86 


which  they  call  heresy,  so  worship  I  the  God  of  my 
fathers,'  &c.  At  the  close  of  the  service,  one  of  the  lead- 
ing men  of  the  church  met  him  in  the  aisle  with  the 
abrupt  salutation,  *  If  I  believed  what  you  have  preached, 
I  should  never  read  the  Bible,  nor  attend  meeting.'  We 
may  judge  that  the  discourse  touched  upon  his  favorite 
doctrine  of  election  ;  and  one  of  his  hearers  has  said  re- 
specting it,  that  she  never,  in  all  her  long  life  of  eighty- 
nine  years,  heard  this  doctrine  so  clearly  and  beautifully 
expounded. 

*'  But  while  he  was  thus  uncompromising  in  performing 
what  he  conceived  to  be  his  duty  as  a  Christian  teacher, 
his  sensitive  nature  was  easily  touched.  The  remark 
made  upon  his  sermon  touched  him  to  the  quick,  and  that 
day,  at  noon,  not  a  morsel  passed  his  lips. 

"  He  found  easy  access  to  the  hearts  of  the  people.  *  He 
was  a  godly  man,'  they  say  of  him  here,  and  those  who 
were  most  intimate  with  him  love  and  cherish  his  memory 
the  most.  His  pure,  upright,  earnest,  God-trusting  life 
stands  as  a  model  of  Christian  and  ministerial  excellence. 

"  The  church-edifice  in  which  he  preached  has  since  heeu 
remodelled,  and  is  now  called  *  The  Temple,'  on  Chesti-vit 
street.  He  continued  to  conduct  the  services  here  until 
about  the  first  of  June,  1826.  At  that  time.  Elder  Moses 
How,  of  the  *  Christian '  persuasion,  being  in  town,  desired 
to  occupy  the  pulpit  of  Elder  Dunbar.  To  this  Mr.  D. 
rather  objected,  from  the  fact  that  he  was  endeavoring  to 
establish  a  Baptist  interest  in  the  place,  and  that  he  felt 
that  harm  would  result  firom  allowing  any  adverse  in- 
fluence to  emanate  from  his  pulpit.  Finally,  however, 
consent  was  given,  it  being  understood,  it  is  said,  that  con- 
flicting doctrines  woi :  far  the  time  to  be  laid  aside.  Elder 
How  preached  accordingly,  and,  contrary  to  the  ejcpectatiou 


m 


DUNCAIf  DUINBAB. 


of  Mr.  Dtitibaf,  took  ground  in  pointed  opposition  to  the 
tenets  of  the  latt^.  At  the  dose  of  the  dncourse,  Mr.  B. 
arose  find  said,  that  *■  the  yonng  man  had  doubtless  d(»ie 
the  best  he  could,  and  he  would  reply  to  him  I  * 

"  He  shortly  after  preached  his  ferewell  discourse  to  that 
mixed  people.  The  house  was  orowded.  The  sermon 
reviewed  his  ministry  there,  recalling  to  the  minds  of  his 
hearers  the  eagerness  with  which  they  had  urged  his  com- 
ing, and  the  unkind  manner  in  which  they  had  treated 
liim.  This  closed  his  connection  with  that  churcli**^'^*^'^* 
.  '^  But  he  proceeded  with  his  AfeusrterV  work ;  and,  on  the 
11th  of  June,  under  the  patronage  of  the  Massaehusetts 
Baptist  Missionary  Society,  the  Cftlvinist  Baptists  assem- 
bled by  themselves  for  public  worship,  for  the  fhfst  time. 
The  place  of  meeting  was  the  ♦  Old  Assembly  House/ 
on  Yaughan  street.  Mr.  Dunbar  preached,  in  the  fore- 
noon, from  the  text,  Gen.  xxviii.  16 :  *And  Jacob  awaked 
out  of  his  sleep ;  and  he  said,  Surely  the  Lord  is  in  this 
place,  and  I  knew  it  not.'  la  the  afternoon,  he  took  the 
seventeenth  verse :  *  This  is  none  other  but  the  house  of 
God,  and  this  is  the  gate  of  heaven.*  rHf  --^-rr- 
^  "A  meeting  was  soon  appointed  to  take  measures  for 
the  formation  of  a  Calvinistic  Baptist  Church.  There  were 
present  eight  persons, — just  the  number,  as  Mr.  D. 
pleasantly  remarked,  that  entered  into  the  ark,  —  nameJy, 
Duncan  Dunbar,  Sampson  Sheafe,  Allen  Porter,  Samuel 
Cleaves,  EHsha  C.  Crane,  Susan  Parke,  Mary  Brewster, 
and  Christina  Dunbar,  -mmrmmm^t  'mt<ifm^'M  jm^^'' 
*  "  A  call,  signed  by  these  persons,  was  issued  for  a  Coun- 
cil, with  reference  to  their  constitution  into  a  Baptist 
Church.  Such  a  council  assembled  August  10,  1826,  at 
the  house  of  Mr.  Dunbar  ;  and  public  services  were  subse- 
quently held  in  the  Assembly  House.     The  council  repre 


EMPffATIC  LANOUAOB. 


*r 


flcnted  the  Baptist  Churches  of  Exeter,  N.  H.,  Portland 
and  Sonth  Berwick,  Blaine,  bj  their  pastors  and  tliree  other 
delegates.  The  sermon  was  preached  by  the  Rer.  Thomas 
B.  Ripley,  of  Portland.  The  Lord's  8apper  was  celebrated, 
for  the  first  time,  September  3d.  ^^Wmmrn  mfi:  m-^ 

"  The  hall  in  which  the  Society  worshipped  would  ac- 
commodate about  two  hundred  persons.     It  was  generally  f 

filled.  ■'-^'9'^--'^^-^'f^?fW':'^-^    -^ff^'f-    •<•"«««■■  'SWT*'-' 

^*  During  the  summer,  Mr.  Dunbar  wa»  accustomed  to 
have  a  meeting  at  six  o'clock,  a.  m.,  in  which  he  occupied 
considerable  time  with  remarks,  two  preaching  services 
during  the  day,  and  a  meeting  in  the  evening ;  all  which 
would  have  been  no  easy  task  for  one  whose  heart  was  not 
in  his  wco^.     >  ;  • /.:      -;  .«. 

"  It  was  his  btistom  to  spend  from  flfleeti  to  thirty  trii)Br-1 
utes,  forenoon  and  afternoon,  in  reading  and  expounding 
the  Scriptures.  Tljis  was  followed  by  a  sermon,  which 
would  now  be  considered  long ;  the  entire  service  was  two 
or  two  and  a  half  hours.  Mr.  Dunbar  also  preached  once 
during  the  week. 

"  In  one  of  his  sermons  he  made  use  of  the  following  em- 
phatic language  to  e2Cpress  his  belief  in  the  deity  of  Christ : 
'  If  Jesus  Christ  was  not  the  veiy  Eternal  God,  he  was  the 
greatest  impostor  that  ever  lived  on  earth,  and  the  Jews 
did  perfectly  right  in  killing  him  I '   [Lev.  xxiv.  16.]      ^" 

"  Mr.  Dunbar's  preaching  attracted  hearers  from  othei**  ■ 
denominations.    This  was  very  soon  seriously  felt  by  the 
Independent  Congregational  Society  worshipping  in  Pitts'^; 
Street.    Finding  the  doctrines  of  the  Baptists  were  be-'^ 
coming  more  acceptable  to  his  hearers,  the  pastor  of  this 
church  was  led  to   change  his  views  to  accord  to  those  ^ 
held  by  Mr.  Dunbar.      But  it  appears  that  this  was  fifriV 
step  too  far,  as  this  was  ttot  the  first  change  of  the  kind 


88 


■%. 


DUNCAN    DUNBAR. 


he  had  made.  He  lost  the  entire  confidence  of  his  society, 
and  ere  long,  by  the  advice  of  his  friends,  he  removed  to 
another  field. 

"  Left  thus  without  a  pastor,  it  was  not  long  before  an 
invitation  was  extended  to  the  Baptists  to  form  a  union  of 
the  two  societies,  Mr.  Dunbar  to  preach  in  the  Pitts  Street 
Chapel.  The  invitation  was  accepted,  and  about  the  be- 
ginning of  the  new  year^  the  meetings  at  the  '  Assembly 
House  '  were  given  up. 

"  Mr.  Dunbar,  however,  preached  but  a  few  Sabbaths  in 
the  new  place,  before  he  accepted  a  call  from  Chester, 
N.  H.,  about  the  last  of  January,  1827. 

"  His  labors  in  Portsmouth  were  more  direcdy  blessed  to 
the  gathering  of  a  church  and  its  confirmation  in  the  doc- 
trines of  grace,  than  in  the  conversion  of  sinners.  He 
was  the  instrument,  in  God's  hand,  of  laying  the  founda- 
tion deep  and  strong,  on  which  others  have  since  built  up 
a  prosperous  body,  now  known  as  the  *  Middle  Street  Bap- 
tist Church.'  .:.^.  ■;■;■*.       ;>    ^,3:.**.-^.i   t  J--^f  ,-v: 

"  Yet  he  never  was  neglectful  of  his  duty  to  the  uncon- 
verted. There  was  always  manifest  a  deep  and  tender 
earnestness  in  his  pleadings  with  those  whose  minds  were 
seriously  inclined.  After  lingering  a  long  while  at  the 
close  of  an  evening-meeting,  in  conversation  with  a  young 
lady,  an  inquirer,  he  left  her  with  the  remark,  *  O  my 

dear ,  if  there  were  but  one  soul  in  the  whole  world 

needing  salvation,  and  that  soul  were  here,  I  should  bo 
amply  repaid  for  all  my  labor  and  trouble  in  coming  from 
Scotland,  to  save  that  one.'     r^f^fji-^t^  t^m  v^^ftiaft^^  ^s'^i' 

''  During  Mr.  Dunbar's  ministry  at  the  Assembly  House, 
he  baptized  four  persons.  In  February,  however,  the 
naonth  succeeding  his  removal,  thirteen  more  were  added, 
—  'one  sowing,  and  another  reapng.'  "j;  ;.  ,^  ,s*i  g«R»  - 


HELPERS  RAISED  UP. 


89 


To  show  how  easy  it  is  for  the  Lord  to  raise  up  helpers 
for  his  servants,  we  cannot  omit  mentioning  a  friendship 
formed  at  this  time,  which  had  much  to  do  with  the  hap- 
piness and  comfort  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  family  in  Portsmouth. 

While  preaching  in  the  Assembly  House,  he  noticed  a 
lady  whose  dress  and  manners  marked  her  as  a  stranger 
among  his  hearers.  None  there  knew  her ;  but  still  she 
came  regularly  on  Sabbath  mornings,  and  was  a  most  atten- 
tive listener.  By  and  by  she  began  to  drop  in  at  the 
evening  service,  and  then  she  was  accompanied  by  a  black 
man,  as  a  protector.  Asking  who  in  town  kept  such  a 
man-servant,  Mr.  Dunbar  learned  that  his  new  hearer  was 
the  wife  of  Captain  Mcintosh,  the  newly-appointed  British 
Consul,  brother  of  the  Laird  of  Raigmore,  himself  owning 
an  estate  in  Inverness,  about  thirty  miles  from  Mr.  Dun- 
bar's  native  place. |,t,.,Vi*^  teli,j^<^r,i^_^*^ 

Mrs.  Mcintosh  went  to  the  Assembly  House  at  first  to 
gratify  her  ear  with  the  peculiar  accent  of  her  native  land, 
and  there  felt  the  power  of  the  gospel  she  heard  so  plainly 
and  faithfully  preached.  She  sought  the  acquaintance 
and  friendship  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dunbar ;  and  henceforth 
he  could  have  spoken  of  her  as  one  of  "  those  women  who 
ministered  unto  me  in  the  gospel."  As  a  lady  of  rank  and 
fortune,  she  might,  under  the  circumstances,  have  acted  the 
part  of  a  patroness  toward  a  feeble  church  and  its  minister  ; 
but  it  was  not  in  her  gentle  nature  to  do  so.  The  inter- 
course between  the  two  families  was  one  founded  on  strong 
mutual  affection.  One  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  daughters  was 
named  after  Mrs.  Mcintosh,  at  her  request.  This  inti- 
macy was  kept  up  by  visiting  and  correspondence  as  long 
as  they  remained  in  America ;  and  after  their  return  home, 
Mr.  Dunbar,  when  in  his  native  land,  was  received  as 
their  guest  in  Inverness  with  true  brotherly  warmth  and 


90 


fiUNCAN  DUNBAR*   ft 


Skidt^  t(<jl^lt&%t  After  ^ii  vkk  thr  ifoM»  eaptain 
wrote  to  him  when  at  B/^gin,  urging  him  to  return  to 
them  again  before  leaving  the  country)  and  be^ng  him 
to  ^*  try  to  command  a  lebure^  half  hour,  to  commit  to 
paper  *  The  Bower  of  Prayer '  for  Mrs.  Mcintosh,"  which, 
we  presumej  he  had  sung  to  her  in  her  home.  Bnt  they 
never  met  again  on  earth.  The  captain  and  his  amiable 
wife  preceded  him  to  the  silent  land. 

ISavitig  labored  with  this  church  most  earnestly  and 
fhithfully,  he  felt  it  his  duty,  aft«r  a  brief  pastorate,  to 
resign.  A  unanimous  call  £h>m  Chester  had  been  brought 
to  him  by  three  of  the  brethren,  who  came  to  urge  his 
acceptance  of  it.  Thither  he  removed,  and  was  at  once 
at  work  in  a  hard  field,  where  the  cause  was  weak,  and 
the  opposing  influences  strong.  Of  his  Ikbors  here  we 
have  little  to  mention,  except  the  usual  record  of  fideUty 
and  success.  At  one  time  we  find  an  account  of  twenty- 
three  baptisms  within  a  period  of  about  three  month».  ^^ '- 

While  residing  in  Chester,  Mr.  Dunbar  made  an  ex- 
change with  the  minister  in  Concord  j  N.  H.  He  went  in 
a  sleigh^  taking  with  him  his  eldest  daughter,  then  a  little 
girl.  Late  on  Saturday  afternoon  they  reached  the  river 
at  the  point  where  they  expected  to  cross  it,  but  were 
much  perplexed  by  learning  that  the  ice  was  so  broken  up 
that  no  horse  had  been  driven  over  for  two  or  three  days. 
A  man  who  lived  near  the  river,  and  was  famiUar  with  the 
crossing,  advised  Mr.  Dunbar  not  to  attempt  it.  But 
there  was  no  other  way  to  get  over,  and  he  went  down 
and  examined  it  for  himself.  The  ice  was  parted  from  the 
shore,  and  cracked  into  huge  cakes.  But  with  the  old 
boyish  spirit  of  daring,  he  resolved  '*  to  try  it."  To  quiot 
the  fears  of  his  daughter,  he  said,  as  she  well  remembers, 
•*  I  believe,  my  dear,  that  it  is  God's  will  that  I  should 


i 


PERlLm/S  ADVRNTtfRB. 


91 


preach  hi'CittoCor^^  tt)i!iidrrovir,  airtf  M^  fe^tHe  o^ly  ##y 
I  can  get  there;  so  we  will  put  our  trust  ih^  him,  and  Tin 
■very  snre  he  will  keep  ns  in  safety.  An  old  Indian  in 
New  Brunswick  once  told  me  how  tb  cross  rivers  when 
the  ice  Was  weak.  I  know  about  how  much  you  and  I 
and  the  pony  and  sleigh  weigh,  and  I  have  measured  the 
distance  with  my  eye ;  so  we  will  go." 

He  then*  urged  the  pony  on  with  whip  and  voice;  H^ 
darted  over,  the  cakes  of  ice  parting  as  his  feet  rose  from 
them,  and  the  water  gushing  up  hrhind  them  *at  every 
step.  The  next  morning  the  river  was  nearly  clear  of  ice, 
and  the  current  flowing  freely  on.  The  good  man  who 
had  warned  Mr.  Dunbar  of  the  danger,  no  doubt  thought 
him  a  madman  to  run  such  a  risk;  but  he  used  his 
own  judgment,  decided  on  his  duty,  cast  himself  on  God, 
and  accomplished  his  end.  And  many  times  in  after  life, 
when  there  was  danger  as  well  as  duty  ahead,  did  tie,  in 
church  discipline  or  financial  matters,  take  the  reins  in  his 
own  hand,  measure  the  difficulties  and  the  probabilities  of 
success,  and  then  whip  triumphantly  over  I  He  who 
seemed  rash  on  one  side  the  river,  was  oflen  hailed  as  si 
hero  on  the  other. 

The  Second  Church  in  Brunswick,  Me.,  in  whose 
prosperity  he  felt  a  deep  interest,  was  now  struggling  to 
build  a  house  of  worship.  A  former  member,  who  was  at 
tliis  time  residing  in  New  York,  wrote  them  that  if  they 
could  persuade  Mr.  Dunbar  to  visit  that  city  in  their  be- 
half, he  could  without  doubt  procure  aid  for  them.  One 
of  their  number  made  a  winter's  journey  from  Bnmswick 
to  Chester  to  appeal  to  his  sympathy,  wliich  was  quickly 
moved.  Obtaining  leave  of  absence  from  his  people,  he 
went  to  New  York,  and  was  successful  in  his  mission. 
But  Providence  designed  something  more  than  this  by  the 


^ 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


visit.  So  great  was  the  interest  awakened  by  his  preach- 
ing and  his  intercourse  with  the  people,  tliat  he  received 
calls  to  the  pastorate  of  the  First  Brooklyn,  and  the  Van- 
dam  Street  (New  York),  churches. 

One  evening,  being  at  a  public  meeting  in  New  York,  his 
name  was  announced  as  that  of  a  stranger.  At  the  close 
of  the  services  a  gentleman  came  up  to  him  with  a  look 
of  surprise,  saying,  as  he  grasped  his  hand,  '^  Mr.  Dunbar, 
when  you  were  wrecked  on  the  shore  of  Bermuda,  I  was 
one  of  the  two  lads  who  first  volunteered  to  go  out  through 
the  breakers  to  you,  —  William  George  Miller.  The  ser- 
mons you  preached  while  detained  on  the  island  made  an 
impression  on  my  mind  which  was  never  effaced.  I  am 
now  pastor  of  a  church  in  this  city,  and  no  house  but  mine 
shall  be  your  home  while  you  remain  here." 

The  acquaintance  thus  renewed  grew  into  an  affection- 
ate friendship,  which  endured  till  death  removed  the 
younger  first  to  liis  heavenly  rest.    >i;  • . 


T' 

•*-i-  .'.., 


'/%t^:;  '^■•■»«-»*l'  ^'THf^^  -"'^^^-V.*  ,;i'-''i^ '*    ^■":    ;•■■    ,sir>^>-'-V^' W>;s-•• 


-  •■'■.*    ;.  *.;^;.'K;,f?'>       ,1.'   .    ii 


•  ■'  V  ..  '.■• 


^>f^.~ 


/ 


•m^' 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Take*  Ohaiga  of  th«  Taadam  Street  Ohiueh  —  Tribute  of  Mr.  W.  Seton  —  lAbon  in 
Destitute  puts  of  the  City  — Fonnatloii  of  the  Sixteenth  Ohoroh  —  Befriending 
Stntngen — Preaehing  Obrist  in  the  Priaon  —  Xflbrts  for  OonTlotB. 


r  i.*    ■    ."  w  p' 


)R.  DUNBAR  settled  with  the  North  Beriah 
Ghuit;h,  in  Vandam  street,  New  York,  «a  pastor, 
June  10,  1828.  , 

The  congregation  rapidly  increased,  and,  ere 
long,  the  house  of  worship  became  too  small  for 
them.  It  was  therefore  lengthened  so  as  to  gain, 
several  rows  of  pews,  and  was  otherwise  improved.  But 
scarcely  was  the  work  accomplished,  when,  amid  tokens  of 
great  spiritual  prosperity,  their  sanctuary  .fas  burned  to 
the  ground,  with  very  many  other  buildings,  leaving  nearly 
a  hundred  families  homeless.  Mr.  Dunbar  toiled  ..11  the 
night  of  the  fire,  with  his  brethren,  to  save  what  he  could 
from  the  ruins,  and  to  aid  other  sufferers.  At  daybreak 
he  sought  his  home,  accompanied  by  many  poor  creatures 
who  had  no  shelter,  and  for  them  he  ordered  breakfast  in 
the  kitchen  before  taking  rest  or  refreshment  himself.      • 

The  church  was  treated  with  the  greatest  sympathy  and 
kindness  ii  this  the  time  of  their  need.  Within  a  few  hours 
they  received  offers,  in  whole  or  in  part,  of  several  places 
of  worship,  belonging  to  different  denominations.  A  small 
church  edifice,  built  for  a  Bethel,  in  Provost,  now  Frank- 
lin street,  was  generously  offered  them,  free  of  expense,  by 
Mr.  F.  Merriam,  who  then  owned  it.    This  they  gratefully 

(9») 


04 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


accepted  and  occupied,  until,  hy  much  effort  and  persona! 
sacrifice,  and  by  the  proffered  aid  of  churches  of  their  own 
and  other  denominations,  with  whose  ministers  Mr.  Dun- 
bar was  on  terms  of  friendship,  they  erected  a  new  and 
better  house.  They  selected  another  location,  —  thre« 
house-lots,  forming  part  of  what  was  then  known  as 
"  Shaw's  Garden,"  on  McDougal  street,  at  the  head  of 
Yandam.  There,  in  their  present  place  of  worship,  he 
and  ^e  church,  with  two  short  interruptions,  labored  to- 
gether, amid  frequent  tokens  of  the  divine  favor,  for  more 
than  thirty  years.^  ..-^^^^■i.J^^^  '^i  m^^U.  |  %  ; 
/When  Mr.  Dunbar  first  went  to  Vandam  Straet,  he 
Found  there  a  large  and  flourishing  Sunday  school,  under 
the  superintendence  of  Mr.  S.  W.  Seton,  and  side  by  side 
with  him  he  labored  until  called  home  to  his  rest.  Since 
Mr.  Dunbar's  death,  Mr.  Seton  writes :  ,iiip,mf  i 
^  *^I  send  a  few  recollections  of  the  precious  departed, 
whose  memoir  you  have  consented  to  prepare.  I  trust  it 
will  mirror  forth  his  earnest  life,  so  as  to  revive  bis  past 
counsels  and  examples  with  blessings  to  those  who  '  heard 
him  gladly,'  and  rejoiced  in  his  refreshing  shadow  amid 
heavy  burdens  of  soul  and  body,  while  enjoying  sanctuary 
privileges  at  his  diligent  and  gentle  hand  ;  and  also  to  im- 
press his  faithful  lessons  upon  the  heart  and  conscience  of 
those  who  may  have  turned  thoughtlessly  away  from  the 
voice  of  *the  living  preacher.'  I  heard  his  first  and  his 
last  sermon  to  this  people.  They  were  alike  full  of  ear- 
nestness, energy,  and  spiritual  life;  an  embodiment  of 
that  Christian  experience  so  fully  breathed  in  the  Psalms 
of  David,  and  so  prevailing  a  feature  in  Paul's  edifying 
epistles.  It  was  enough  for  me  ;  —  hidden  manna,  angel's 
food.  He  used  great  plainness  of  speech  and  great  ear- 
nestness of  manner  ;  such  apt  and  beautiful  though  some- 


TRIBUTE  OF  S.   W.  <SBTON. 


96 


times  houraly  illustrations,  that  uneducated  minds,  and 
even  little  children,  could  understand  him.,^  ^^^  .^^^ 

"  A  smile  and  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hand  was  my  last 
interview,  on  leaving  the  SundayHschool  ro(»n,'the  last  Sab- 
bath he  preached.  He  told  me  he  was  going  to  vrnt  his 
children  J.  and  M.,  and  invited  me  to  accompany  him, — 
full  of  life,  health,  and  earnestness  of  purpose.  But,  alas, 
it  proved  to  us  ^  the  last  of  earth '  in  social  intercourse ; 
and  now  a  murmuring  sigh  comes  unadvisedly  to  our  lips ; 
but  this  is  our  infirmity.  God  bless  us  all,  and  forgive 
us  wherein  we  come  short  of  the  blessed  duty,  *  Thy  will 
be  done.' 

**  Yours  with  affection  more  Uian  ever,  *      f>j, 

"  I  find,"  says  Mr.  Seton,  in,  another  letter,  **  the  first 
notice  of  Mr.  Dunbar  in  my  Sunday-school  Annals,  Sab- 
bath morning,  October  5,  1828.  He  preached  the  Anni- 
versary Sermon  of  the  Sunday  school,  November  23.  His 
first  sermon  in  Yandam  Street  was  from  2  Kings  v.  12 : 
*  Are  not  Abana  and  Pharpar,  rivers  of  Damascus,  better 
than  all  the  waters  of  Israel  ?  *  ,   .,,    >    .,.j     v 

"  The  subject  was  beautifully  and  experimentally  a|>- 
plied,  with  unbounded  warmth  and  vigor,  and  gave  the  high- 
est satisfaction  to  all,  opening  a  broad  road  to  favor  among 
tlie  people  who  were  to  become  the  sheep  of  his  pasture. 

"  In  1836,  he  went  to  Europe,  and  returned  November 
7th,  and  was  present  at  the  Friday  evening  prayer-meet- 
ing. He  went  for  his  health,  and  came  back  with  it  fully 
established,  and  with  a  heart  full  of  '  new  wine.' 

"  His  text,  on  the  Sabbath,  was  Rom.  iii.  23 :  '  All  have 
sinned.'  It  had  been  one  of  the  proof-texts  of  the  Sunday- 
sehool  lesson  on  the  previous  Sabbath,  and  the  whole  subject 


-UbL't  ^.  '  .  .W'  U^V^ .   . 


96  it 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


had  thus  been  opened  before,  to  the  school.  This  was  in- 
cidental ;  but  the  text  was  no  doubt  prompted  by  his  pent 
up  spirit,  in  travail  again  for  the  dear  saints  of  his  flock. 

"  The  Sabbath  after  his  return  was  observed  as  a 
Thanksgiving  occasion  for  our  homes,  health,  and  pros- 
perity during  the  year,  and  especicdly  for  the  safe  return 
from  the  perils  of  the  sea  and  of  feeble  health,  of  our 
precious  friend.  It  was  an  occasion  of  the  utmost  spirit- 
ual rejoicing.  The  church  was  crowded  to  its  utmost  ca- 
pacity. How  solemn,  impressive  and  ardent  was  the  gos- 
pel message,  from  this  mere  Bible  motto !  This  observance 
was  by  both  church  and  Sunday  school.  The  Sunday- 
school  minute  says :  *  The  exercises  were  both  solemn  and 
interesting,  and  we  doubt  not  did  good  to  all  hearts,  and 
we  trust  many  were  sanctified  by  their  use,  lifting  up  their 
hearts  for  God's  unspeakable  gift,  and  for  the  good  word 
of  life.* 

"  The  occasion  was  enjoyed  by  not  a  few,  who  hallowed 
the  celebration  with  tears  of  gratitude,  in  this  joyous  meet- 
ing in  the  sanctuary,  as  they 

'  Hailed  with  thanksgiving  a  pastor  returning, 
Refreshed  in  his  strength,  and  his  lamp  brightly  bnmmg,' 

for  the  school  and  the  people.  The  second  Sabbath  morn- 
ing after  his  return,  he  preached  fi-om  Phil.  iv.  6 :  *  Be  care- 
ful for  nothing,  but  in  everything,  by  prayer  and  supplica- 
tion, with  thanksgiving,  let  your  requests  be  made  known 
unto  God.' 

"  This  was  well  fitted  for  his  affectionate  heart  to  his 
people,  zealous  that,  in  home  and  church  affairs,  they 
should  make  known  their  joy  by  prayer  and  praise.  The 
occasion  was  one  long  to  be  remembered,  and  is  unforgot- 
ten  by  me  in  all  its  features,  as  also  his  salutation  sennou, 
on  the  previous  Sabbath,  ^  All  have  sinned.'  " 


fu    IC- 


LABORS  IN  NEW  YORK. 


97 


When  Mr.  DunBar  went  "to  New  York  there  was  a 
great  field  for  evangelical  labor  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
city.  There  was  then  but  one  Baptist  church  north  of 
his  own,  and  the  population  was  rapidly  increasing  in  that 
direction.  One  of  his  deacons,  John  B.  Halstead,  had  re- 
moved to  the  Eighth  Avenue,  near  Eighteenth  street, 
then  quite  out  of  town.  His  heart  was  moved  for  the 
people,  and  he  resolved  to  use  his  influence  in  establish- 
ing worship  there.  He  laid  the  case  before  his  pastor, 
who  pledged  himself  to  further  any  plan  he  might  lay 
out.  Mr.,  afterward  Rev.,  Henry  Knapp,  who  had  re- 
cently been  converted,  and  had  united  with  the  Van- 
dam  Street  Church,  occupied  a  large  homestead  on  the 
shore  of  the  Hudson,  near  «  The  Old  White  Fort." 
He  now  threw  open  his  house  for  meetings,  and  once  a 
week  Mr.  Dunbar  went  there,  accompanied  by  several 
brethren,  and  preached,  to  as  many  as  Mr.  K.'s  hos- 
pitality could  accommodate,  the  good  word  of  life.        ■■^''i^' 

These  labors  were  accepted ;  souls  were  converted,  and 
saints  encouraged  to  attempt  great  things  for  God. 
Deacon  Halstead  began  to  broach  the  subject  of  a  new 
church.  Of  course  such  a  movement  would  involve  the 
loss  of  several  beloved  members  to  Vandam  Street,  not 
itself  at  the  time  very  strong.  To  Mr.  Dunbar,  parting 
with  Deacon  H.  was  like  losing  a  right  arm  for  labor,  so 
liighly  did  he  value  the  earnest  piety,  the  profound 
wisdom,  and  the  active  zeal  of  this  blessed  friend  and 
church-officer.  But  he  shrunk  not  from  the  sacrifice,  and 
went  with  them,  heart  and  soul,  into  the  work.  A  little 
vestry  was  built,  which  soon  had  to  be  enlarged,  and  a 
church  was  formed,  which  grew  into  what  is  now  the 
Sixteenth  Baptist  Church.  From  its  incipient  state,  this  , 
"interest"  was  clierished  by  tlie  mother  church,  which 
9 


9i 


;*l-. 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


cheerfully  gdve  of  her  sons  and  her  treasures  to  aid 
in  planting  the  standard  of  the  cross  in  that  then  new 
region.  The  holy  and  unselfish  spirit,  —  so  free  from  all 
ambition  of  being  a  leader,  —  which  animated  the  heart  of 
John  B.  Halstead,  made  its  impress  on  those  who  were 
associated  with  him,  as  well  as  on  those  he  left  behind  in 
the  old  home.  No  feelings  save  those  of  love,  we  believe, 
ever  existed  between  these  two  churches. 

Mr.  Dunbar's  settlement  in  New  York  was  indeed  an 
entrance  into  a  great  field  of  usefulness,  for  which  both 
nature  and  grace  had  eminently  fitted  him.  Well  do  his 
elder  children  remember  the  zeal  with  which  he  took 
up  the  first  cases  of  suffering  that  presented  themselves. 
At  the  head  of  the  list  stood  a  decent  old  man,  whom  he 
found  suffering  from  want  of  work.  Near  Mr.  Dunbar's 
house,  then  in  Charlton  street,  close  to  the  old  Rich- 
mond HUl  Theatre,  —  in  days  long  gone  the  country- 
seat  of  Aaron  Burr,  —  was  an  alley-way,  over  which 
was  a  rough  chamber,  with  plank  floor,  reached  by  a 
ladder.  Here  he  set  up  the  old  stranger  at  house-keeping, 
after  presenting  him  with  a  '^  buck  "  and  saw,  with  which 
to  earn  his  bread.  The  bare  brick  walls,  the  cot  bed,  the 
table,  chair  and  stove,  composed  a  palace  for  the  grateful 
creature,  and  for  months  he  toiled  every  hour  of  daylight, 
manifesting  a  sobriety  and  industry  which  proved  him  no 
subject  for  the  almshouse,  &om  which  his  benefactor  had 
kept  him.  During  the  winter,  the  old  man  was  sick  for  a 
few  days,  and  then  it  became  the  mission  of  Mr.  Dunbar's 
little  children  to  mount  the  ladder,  and  carry  broth,  gruel, 
and  whatever  he  might  need  to  what  their  fiither  playfully 
called,  "  Robby's  Roost'*  The  queer  little  figure,  —  clad 
in  light  blue  cotton,  until  he  earned  better  garments,  — 
surmounted  with  a  very  small,  red  wig,  is  one  of  tho 


BEFBIEND1N6  STRANGERS. 


w 


gfotisqitd  pf<itilf«8  imprinted  on  their  ittesM^^  The;y 
will  never  forget "  Jemmy  the  wood-sawyer.** 

One  moming,as  Mr.  Dunbar  entered  a  barber's  shop,  a 
young  man  of  superior  address,  whom  he  had  seen 
there  several  times  and  had  taken  for  a  customer,  stepped 
up  to  him  with  some  difSdence,  and  offered  to  shave 
him. 

"  But  »e  you  a  barber  ?  **  asked  Mr.  Dunbar  in  sur- 

"  No,  sir,  but  I  am  learning  to  be  one,**  he  replied, 
dropping  his  eyes,  while  the  color  mounted  to  his  brow. 

"  But  why  is  this,  my  young  friend  ?**  asked  Mr.  Dun- 
bar, "'"^'^^^"^f^s^  "^i^^^  .#^fe»''Mll^^-|«^  ■ 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  stranger,  in  tremulous  tones,  **  I  can- 
not dig,  and  to  beg  I  am  ashamed.  I  came  from  a  good 
home,  and  am  the  son  of  a  respectable  family.  I  have 
spent  my  remittances,  and,  after  vain  endeavors  to  obtain 
a  position  in  a  mercantile  house,  have  become  utterly  dis- 
couraged.  Day  after  day  I  have  come  here,  and  thisr 
good  barber  has  pitied  and  tried  to  help  me.  I  could  no 
longer  pay  my  board  where  I  was,  and  he  has  allowed  me 
to  sleep  here  on  the  lounge,  and  has  sent  me  food.  I  can- 
not accept  the  bounty  of  a  poor  man,  while  myself  strong 
and  able  to  work ;  so  when  he  needed  help  here,  I  oflfered 
to  learn  his  trade,  and  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  shave 
you,  sir." 

"No,  my  young  friend,  I  will  allow  you  to  do  nb 
such  thing  I  Come  home  with  me,  and  I  mil  see  what  can 
be  done  for  you." 

After  seemg  his  credentials  and  inquiring  into  his  char- 
acter where  he  had  been  boarding,  Mr.  Dunbar  took  the 
young  man  into  his  own  i&mily.  Here  he  remained  many 
weeks,  it  being  a  time  of  great  depression  in  business. 


100 


DUNCAN  DONBAB. 


Here  he  conducted  himself  like  a  gentleman,  and  mani- 
fested much  gratitude.  He  at  length  found  employment, 
and  then  refunded,  as  far  as  was  in  his  power,  the  money 
loaned  him.  He  expressed  the  firm  helief  that  Mr.  Dun- 
bar's kindness  had  saved  him  from  the  ruin  which  so  often 
overtakes  unemployed  youth  in  great  cities.     '  ^f^^ 

Sectarianism  was  never  mingled  with  Mr.  DuTibai*'s 
charities  ;  the  sufferer  was  a  brother  man.  That  was  all 
he  cared  to  know.  Catholic,  Jew,  and  Gentile,  alike 
shared  his  pity.  The  last-named  young  man  was  a  stanch, 
consistent  Epi  copahan,  and  read  his  prayers,  and  attended 
his  own  services,  while  eating  the  bread  of  his  benefactor. 
But  Mr.  Dunbar  did  not  wish,  to  buy  men's  consciences 
cheap  in  their  day  of  adversity  ;  he  asked  nc  man  to  sell 
his  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage. 

The  second  year  of  his  residence  in  New  York,  a  young 
man,  named  Richard  Johnson,  was  sentenced  to  be  hung 
for  the  murder  of  a  Mrs.  Newman,  who  had  cilielly 
deceived  and  injured  him.  He  had  heard  of  Mr.  Dun- 
bar, and  requested  that  he  might  be  his  spiritual  ad- 
viser. Mr.  Dunbar  became  deeply  interested,  as  did 
many  other  gentlemen,  in  the  case,  the  condemned  having 
hitherto  borne  a  fair  character  for  honesty  and  industry, 
and  having  committed  the  crime  in  a  frenzy,  after  great 
provocation.  Every  effort  was  made  to  save  him,  but  in 
vain ;  the  majesty  of  law  triumphed  over  all  the  appeals 
of  pity,  and  the  minister  had  only  to  labor  and  pray  that 
his  poor  young  charge  might  be  prepared  to  meet  a  mighti- 
er and  yet  more  merciftil  Judge  than  man.  Those  who 
knew  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  will  realize  how  keenly 
Mr.  Dunbar  S3nmpathized  with  the  agony  of  the  condemned, 
and  how  earnestly  he  prayed  and  toiled  for  his  salvation 
during  those  months  that  intervened  between  the  sentence 


LABORS  WITH  THE  CONDEMNED. 


101 


and  its  fulfilment.  Even  down  to  the  last  hour,  he  was  with 
him,  spending  the  whole  night  preceding  the  execution  in 
prayer  and*  conversation  in  the  cell,  and  rejoicing,  when  the 
sad  scene  was  over,  in  the  belief  that  one  who  was  deemed 
by  man  unfit  to  live,  was,  by  faith  in  the  pardoning  blood 
of  Christ,  made  meet  for  heaven.  A  long  paper,  contain- 
ing the  sad  history  of  Johnson's  fall  from  virtue,  and  his 
sudden  descent  to  ruin,  with  other  writings  of  interest 
from  his  hand,  were  found  among  Mr.  Dunbar's  papers 
after  his  own  death.:^-*??^-'  "■''■'''  '<*'«'  ^"'^^^i:i^'■^tm:•^<: 

So  deeply  was  the  case  of  this  friendless  young  man  felt, 
and  so  earnest  were  the  prayers  for  him  at  the  family  altar,' 
that  the  children  entered  most  painfully  into  it.  Never  will 
they  forget  the  awful  anxieties  of  that,  his  last  night  on  earth. 
The  tender  heart  of  their  mother,  alive  with  pity  for  every 
living  thing,  was  so  deeply  moved  that  she  never  thought 
of  sleeping.  She  gathered  her  children  all  in  her  own 
room,  and  while  the  little  ones  slept,  she,  with  those  old 
enough  to  enter  into  her  feelings,  watched  the  hours  as 
they  dragged  heavily  on  to  the  fatal  stroke  of  "  four." 
Every  throb  of  that  pure  heart  bore  a  prayer  to  heaven  for 
the  parting  soul.  Like  the  dying  thief,  he  lefib  earth  in  the 
ftill  hope  of  being  that  day  with  Christ  in  Paradise. 

Among  the  letters  preserved  by  Mr.  Dunbar,  is  one  in 
which  the  full  gratitude  of  a  father's  heart  is  poured  out, 
and  blessings  called  down  on  him,  for  his  success  in  obtain- 
ing pardons  for  two  young  sons,  who,  through  the  temptar- 
tion  of  evil  companions,  had  been  led  into  their  first 
crime,  and  been  sentenced  to  the  State  Prison.  His  chil- 
dren have  no  remembrance  of  the  case,  and  know  of  this 
and  hundreds  of  other  acts  of  mercy  only  from  the  writ- 
ten acknowledgments  of  the  recipients,  or  the  letters  of 
friends  at  the  time.  /       r  t>^  -J 

,9*  -••:;■:<':« 


102 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


-  :XL'. 


There  was  a  respectable  widow  living  not  &r  from  hk 
church,  an  Episcopalian,  and  an  utter  stranger  to  him. 
She  had  two  sons,  one  in  the  West  Indies  and  one  with 
her,  both  bearing  good  characters,  and  having  employment 
in  respectable  mercantile  houses.  They  were  affectionate 
and  dutiful  toward  her,  supplying  all  her  wants.  The 
younger  one  was  invited  by  liis  fellow-clerks  to  join  with 
them  in  sending  flour  to  one  of  the  islands,  where  there 
was  at  the  time  a  great  scarcity.  He  was  looking  every 
hour  for  the  ship  which  was  to  bring  the  semi-annual  in- 
stalment from  his  brother  for  his  mother's  use.  With  her 
consent  he  agreed  to  join  his  companions  in  the  speculation, 
having  not  a  doubt  that  the  expected  money  would  soon 
arrive.  Day  after  day  passed,  and  the  morning  came  when 
the  payment  for  the»  flour  was  due ;  but  still  there  was  no 
sign  of  the  vessel  ofi^  Sandy  Hook.  He  felt  ashamed  to 
withdraw,  at  so  late  a  time,  from  his  agreement,  and  was 
not  a  little  perplexed ;  wher«  the  book-keeper  sent  him  off 
to  the  bank  to  deposit  a  thousand  dollars. 

He  placed  eight  hundred  and  ninety  dollars  in  the 
bank,  and,  with  the  balance  of  one  hundred  and  ten,  ful- 
filled his  part  of  the  contract  at  once.  A  young  clerk, 
belonging  to  another  firm,  was,  at  the  time,  in  the  bank, 
and,  going  afterward  to  that  store,  said  carelessly  to  the 

book-keeper,  "  I  saw putting  your  eight  liu-  v    ^  in 

the  bank."  "  But  it  was  one  thousand,"  wa  :1  •  >  ?>.  y. 
"  I  am  certain,"  said  the  clerk,  *^  it  was  eight  hundred 
and  something."  The  poor  youth  was  called  on  to  decide 
the  quv  ''tion.  In  an  agony  of  terror  he  confessed  it,  and 
his  empl-.  n>,  not  hearing  all  the  mitigating  circumstances, 
caused  bis  wixxiL  He  was  tried,  and  sentenced  to  the 
Sing  Sing  jrijon  for  two  or  three  years  ;  and,  although 
the  money  to  meat  the  deficiency  arrived  before  th« 
sentence  was  carried  out,  it  was  too  late  to  save  him. 


EFFORTS   FO  .   rONVICTS. 


108 


It  may  easily  be  imagineu  into  what  anguish  the  poor 
widowed  mother  was  then  cast.  An  humble  neighbor, 
who  had  himself  found  Mr.  Dunbar  a  friend  in  need,  said 
to  her,  **  Go  to  Mr.  Dunbar ;  I  know  that  he  can  help 
you  '  •» 

VH'^  I  r.rt-stricken  woman  made  her  way  to  his  house, 
wLei'e  8h<^  was  met  with  the  tenderest  sympathy.  The 
^iCue  ttory  was  listened  to  with  such  patience  as  a  man 
of  perfect  leisure  might  manifest,  but  no  hopes  were  held 
ou^.  He  directed  her  to  the  widow's  God  for  comfort  and 
support)  reminding  her  how  easy  it  would  be  for  the 
Saviour,  who  gave  back  to  the  sisters  of  Bethany  their 
brother  from  the  grave,  and  to  the  widow  of  Nain  her 
son  from  the  bier,  to  restore  her  boy  who  still  lived.  He 
said,  **  I  have  no  influence  with  the  governor,  but  I 
know  and  love  a  man  who  has  ;  I  will  write  all  you 
have  told  me  to  him,  and  if  he  can  aid  us  in  the  matter, 
he  will  do  it."  The  case  had  now  become  his  own,  as 
did  those  of  all  whom  he  strove  to  aid  or  comfort.  He 
first  saw  the  employers,  and  learned  from  them  the  truth 
of  the  story  and  the  previous  good  character  of  the  young 
man.  He  then  wrote  to  interest  Rev.  Dr.  Welch,  of  Albany, 
in  the  case,  knowing  that  he  could  lay  it  before  Gov.  Marcy, 
who  was  one  of  his  hearers.  The  kind-hearted  doctor 
hf !  probably  used  the  freedom  which  friendship  vouch- 
safed him,  as  far  as  prudent,  already  in  such  matters  ;  but 
he  replied  at  once,  promising  to  do  all  in  his  power  for  the 
widow's  son.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  through  his  influence 
Mr.  Dunbar  soon  went  to  that  sorrowful  home  with  a 
pardon  in  his  hand.  The  distressed  woman  was  in  such 
a  state  of  ^.xcitement  that  he  really  felt  afraid  to  tell 
her  at  once  the  result  of  his  eflforts. 

He  sat  down  by  her  side  and  calmly  told  her  of  the  de« 


104 


Jl     DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


t:* 


■'* 


lays  and  discouragements  generally  met  with  in  cases 
like  hers  ;  how  many  applications  were  made  to  the  chief 
magistrate  for  clemency,  and  how  careful  he  had  to  be, 
lest,  by  false  pity,  he  might  flood  the  community  again 
with  the  very  felons  from  whom  justice  had  just  saved  it. 

She  saw  and  admitted  the  difficulties  in  the  way  ;  and 
then  he  said,  "  Still,  for  all  this,  the  governor  has  the 
power  to  do  it  if  he  pleases.  Now,  if  you  should  hear  that 
he  would  grant  your  son  a  pardon,  could  you  bear  it 
calmly,  and  thank  God  for  so  influencing  his  heart?" 
Thus  he  led  her  along,  and  then  slowly  drew  from 
his  pocket  the  pardon,  and  said,  "  Here,  poor  mother; 
you  will  see  youir  son  in  two  or  three  days." 

We  believe  the  young  man's  former  employers  received 
him  back  again,  and  that  his  friture  conduct  showed  that 
their  confidence  in  his  upright  intentions  was  not  misplaced. 


(V>^ 


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■O-?:y0; 


'        CHAPTER 

Tbc  Cholera  Summer— Letter  of  Dr.  Dowltng  — labon  with  the  Slok  ami  Dying  — Ii 
Prostrated  with  the  Disease  —  Returns  to  his  Work  — Careful  to  entertain  Strand- 
en  —  Second  Cholera  Summer — God's  Wing  orer  the  People  of  his  Charge. 

)Y  first  acquaintance  with  Rev.  Duncan  Dunbar," 
writes  Rev.  Dr.  Dowling,  of  New  York,  "  was 
in  the  summer  of  1832,  the  memorable  year  of 
the  cholera  in  New  York.  I  was  then  a  stranger 
in  a  strange  land,  having  just  arrived,  with 
the  wife  of  my  youth  and  two  little  children,  from 
England,  with  the  intention  of  making  America  my 
home.  We  sailed  from  London  in  July,  1832,  while 
the  cholera  was  pursuing  its  way  over  England.  Many 
were  the  conjectures  whether  or  not  it  would  ever  cross 
the  ocean  to  America.  During  our  passage  of  seven 
weeks,  it  was  the  subject  of  general  congratulation  that 
we  were  placing  the  ocean  between  us  and  the  terrible 
scourge.  What  was  our  disappointment,  on  being  boarded 
by  a  pilot  off  Sandy  Hook,  to  hear  from  him,  *  The 
cholera  has  been  raging  for  six  weeks  in  the  city,  where 
there  have  been  five  thousand  cases  and  two  thousand 
deaths.  There  are  now  from  two  to  three  hundred  cases 
a  day.  The  people  are  in  a  panic,  and  the  city  almost 
deserted.'  ^ 

"  Upon  our  release  from  quarantine,  we  found  the  report 
too  true.  As  we  walked  the  streets,  it  was  easy  to  see 
that  the  Angel  of  Death  was  there.  Sorrow  and  be- 
reavement were  written  on  ihousands  of  countenances, 

(106) 


106 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


It 


and  Mineral  processions  met  at  almost  every  comer. 
Houses  and  stores  were  shut  in  every  direction,  the  occu- 
pants having  fled  the  city.  The  words  of  the  mourning 
prophet  came  to  my  lips  :  *  How  doth  the  city  sit  solitary 
that  was  full  of  people  !  How  is  she  become  as  a  widow  I 
The  ways  of  Zion  do  ,  nourn  because  none  come  to  her 
solemn  feasts  ;  all  her  gates  are  desolate  ;  her  priests 
sigh  ;  her  virgins  are  afflicted,  and  she  is  in  bitterness.^ 

**  It  was  under  such  circumstances  that  I  called,  the  day 
after  my  arrival,  on  my  dear  iH'other  Dunbar,  with  a  letter 
of  introduction,  and  found  him  not  only  the  warm-hearted 
Christian  brother,  and  kind,  judicious  adviser,  but  also, 
as  hundreds  besides  myself  have  found  him,  before  and 
since,  emphatically  '  The  Stranger's  Friend.'  He  wel- 
comed me  at  once  to  his  heart,  his  home,  and  his  pulpit. 
I  know  that  many  eyes  beside  my  own  will  kindle  and 
moisten  with  grateful  recollection,  while  I  testify  to  the 
fact  that,  more  than  any  man  I  ever  knew,  did  this  dear 
brother  follow  out  the  spirit  of  God's  injunction  to  ancient 
Israel,  of  kindness  to  the  stranger  :  *  Ye  know  the  heart 
of  a  stranger,  seeing  ye  were  strangera  in  Egypt.'  One 
of  these,  a  ministering  brother  to  whcnn  he  had  been  as  a 
father,  accosted  me  thu8^  as  I  entered  the  place  of  worship, 
at  Mr.  Dunbar's  funeral :  ^  Brother  Dowling,  do  you.want 
to  adopt  a  son  ? '  I  did  not  understand  him  till  I  saw  the 
quivering  lip  and  tesu^  <'ye,  as  he  looked  into  the  house, 
hung  with  mourning,  and  added,  *  I  have  lost  a  father, — 
dear  brother  Dunbar  I  He  was  a  father  to  me.'  And 
similar  to  these,  I  am  free  to  confess,  were  my  own  feel- 
ings when,  on  the  following  Sabbath,  I  preached  to  my  own 
congregation  from  tlie  words  of  Elisha,  when  Elijah  was 
taken  up  to  heaven,  *  My  father,  my  father,  the  chariots 
of  Israel,  and  thu  hoi*senien  thereof.' 


LAJJORS  WITH  THE  SICK  AND  DYING* 


107 


"  But  my  principal  object  in  writing  was  to  testify  to  the 
self-denying  and  arduous  labors  of  brother  Dunbar  dur- 
ing that  terrible  summer  of  the  cholera.  During  the 
whole  season  he  remained  faithful.  While  most  of  the 
ministers,  partaking  of  the  general  alarm,  fled  the  city,  he 
stood  preeminent  among  the  &ithful  few,  who,  inspired  by 
a  noble,  Christ-like  heroism,  consecrated  themselves  to  the 
work  of  philanthropy  and  mercy.  Deterred  by  no  con- 
siderations of  danger,  he  visited  the  sick  and  dying,  com- 
forted the  sorrowing  and  bereaved,  counting  no  sacrifice 
too  costly,  no  self-denial  too  great,  so  that,  like  his  Mas- 
ter, he  might  go  about  doing  good. 

"  Though  I  was  at  his  house  every  day,  while  in  the  city, 
I  do  not  think  I  ever  called  without  his  being  either  ab- 
sent on  some  visit  of  mercy,  or  else  at  home  with  the 
friends  of  the  dead  or  dying,  who  had  called  on  him  for 
sympathy  or  aid.  I  heard  from  him  many  touching  inci- 
dents of  sorrow,  of  which  he  had  been  a  personal  and 
sympathizing  witness ;  but  the  lapse  of  thirty  years  has 
left  the  particulars  too  indistinct  for  detail.  I  well  re- 
member being  introduced  by  him,  at  his  house,  to  one 
poor  mourner,  who,  in  a  few  days,  had  been  bereft  of  all 
his  family,  a  wife  and  four  children,  by  the  awful  scourge. 
He  had  come  for  consolation  and  sympathy,  and  also  to 
ask  what  inscription  he  should  put  on  the  monument  he 
was  erecting  over  the  remains  of  his  lost  family. 

"  The  universal  testimony  concerning  brother  Dunbar 
was :  *  When  the  ear  heard  him  it  blessed  him,  and 
when  the  eye  saw  him  it  gave  witness  to  him  ;  because  he 
(lolivered  the  poor  that  cried,  and  the  fatherless,  and  him 
that  had  none  to  help  him.  The  blessing  of  him  that 
wns  ready  to  perish  came  upon  him,  and  he  caused  th« 
widow's  heart  to  sing  for  joy.' 


108 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


"  I  had  begun  to  hope  that  my  own  loved  family  would 
escape  the  pestilence ;  but,  while  myself  absent  from  the 
city,  it  pleased  God  to  take  from  me  my  beloved  wife  and 
one  of  my  children.  I  came  back  to  find  her  already  in 
the  grave,  and  my  child  in  its  coflSn.  I  will  add  that, 
while  Christ  alone  was  my  rock  and  my  refuge,  I  was 
greatly  blessed  and  comforted  by  the  sympathy  of  Chris- 
tian fr'iends ;  among  whom  was  not  one  more  tender  and 
brotherly,  not  one  whose  words  of  sympathy  w^ere  more 
effectual  in  soothing  my  agonized  heart,  than  the  beloved, 
and  now  sainted,  Duncan  Dunbar-"  »  ;  ,jl  . 

Mr.  Dunbar's  elder  children  remember  well  how  faith 
ftiUy  he  stood  his  ground  through  all  this  terrific  summer. 
His  church  was  almost  empty ;  and  he,  as  well  as  other 
ministers,  might  have  followed  the  people  to  places  of 
safety.  But  who  would  care  for  the  poor,  the  sick,  and 
the  dying,  if  all  forsook  them  and  fled  ?  He  saw  the 
great  work  of  a  comforter  before  him,  and  gave  himself 
to  it.  Through  streets  and  alleys,  from  garret  to  cellar, 
he  went,  often  finding  the  death-bed  and  the  coffin  in  the 
same  room,  carrying  bread,  medicines,  and  money  for  fu- 
nerals. His  door-bell  rung  incessantly ;  and  it  would  have 
required  four  or  five  faithftil  men  to  do  all  the  work  before 
him.  These  were  days  of  severe  and  painful  labor  ;  nor 
did  the  night  bring  any  rest.  No  sooner  was  his  weary 
head  laid  on  its  pillow,  than  some  panting  messenger 
would  ring  and  say  that  a  dying  man,  in  such  a  street  or 
alley,  wanted  Mr.  Dunbar  to  come  and  pray  with  him  ; 
or,  that  a  whole  family  were  sick  and  had  no  one  to  care 
for  them.  Hundreds  of  people,  whose  names  he  had 
never  heard,  received  his  care  and  sympathy,  in  addition 
to  all  he  had  to  do  for  the  remaining  members  of  his  own 
beloved  flock. 


PERSONAL  ATTACK. 


109 


Of  course,  such  incessant  labor,  fatigue,  and  exposure 
to  foul  air  could  not  be  endured  long  without  producing 
their  effects,  even  on  an  iron  constitution  like  his.  His 
sympathies  being  very  strong,  he  suffered  keenly  with  all 
these  afflicted  ones.  He  found  himself  becoming  very 
nervous,  starting  at  the  first  touch  of  the  door-boll,  and 
indeed  at  any  sudden  sound ;  and  also  becoming  more 
easily  fatigued  than  at  first.  One  night,  the  air  being 
raw  and  chilly  for  the  season,  he  returned  late  from  a 
scene  of  indescribable  suffering,  and  retired  greatly  ex 
hausted  both  in  body  and  mind ;  but,  before  he  slept,  he 
was  called  for,  and  set  off  with  an  affrighted  guide  for  an- 
other scene  of  tlie  same  kind.  Entering  an  abode  of 
poverty,  into  which  the  free  air  of  heaven  seemed  never 
to  have  been  admitted,  he  talked  and  prayed  with  a  dying 
person,  breathing,  meanwhile,  an  atmosphere  which  was 
enough  to  destroy  Ufe  without  the  cholera. 

Immediately  after  returning  home,  he  was  seized  with 
all  tlie  symptoms  of  the  disease  ]  and  soon  realized,  in  his 
own  person,  those  sufferings  he  had  striven  so  faithfully  to 
alleviate  in  others.  A  physician  was  at  once  called  ;  and 
with  the  help  of  medicine,  aided  by  his  strong  constitu- 
tion, he  soon  rallied.  He  was,  however,  left  in  a  state  of 
painful  nervous  excitement ;  so  that  he  afterward  con- 
fessed that  for  months  he  did  not  ride  in  an  omnibus  with- 
out constant  terror,  and  never  dared  to  sit  where  he  could 
see  the  horses,  as,  to  his  imagination,  the  poor  jaded  ani- 
mals seemed  rearing,  or  running  away.  But  this  suffering 
(lid  not  hinder  his  work.  As  soon  as  he  could  get  about, 
after  his  sickness,  —  which  was  in  a  few  days,  —  he  as- 
sumed all  that  came  upon  his  hands. 

His  deacons,  seeing  the  effect  of  the  attack  still  visible 
ill  this  nervousness,  prevailed  on  him  to  leave  the  city  be- 

10 


110 


PHHOAN  DUNBAB. 


fore  he  should  have  another.  They  engaged  board  for 
him  and  Mrs.  Dunbar  in  Hoboken,  where  he  could  have 
pure  air,  and  still  hear  daily  from  the  scene  of  his  labors. 
There  he  stayed  —  one  night/  No  mortal  power  could 
keep  him  any  longer.  He  assured  his  physician  that  he 
could  never  g  i  strength  while  his  mind  was  burdened 
with  the  sufferings  of  so  many,  and  he  too  far  away  to 
help  them.  Heaven  sent  the  strength  he  needed,  and  he 
went  about  still  doing  good;  while  his  house  became  a 
home,  or  partially  so,  to  the  families  of  three  or  four  min- 
isters who  landed  on  our  shores  in  this  day  of  visitation, 
and  also  a  resting-place  for  many  other  weary  pilgrims.  - 

One  morning,  while  sick  in  his  bed,  lie  was  sent  for  by 
an  humble  member  of  his  church,  to  pray  for  hor  dying 
husband.  He  could  not  rise ;  but  father  Norton,  an  aged 
minister,  who  belonged  to  his  church,  being  there,  he 
begged  him  to  go  in  his  stead.  He  did  so ;  and,  on  enter- 
ing the  room,  found  the  poor  wife  risen  from  her  bed,  — 
where  lay  a  wailing  babe  only  a  few  days  old,  —  trying  to 
prepare  the  body  of  her  husband  for  a  decent  burial ;  for 
the  dead  carts  waited  not  for  ceremony  at  the  doors  of 
the  poor  that  summer.  Such  scenes  as  these  made  him 
eager  to  be  at  his  work  again  ;  and  all  through  that  sea- 
son, with  the  exception  of  a  few  days,  he  did  his  own 
work  and  that  of  many  other  ministers  who  were  taking 
good  care  of  themselves  in  the  country. 

The  second  cholera  summer  opened  on  the  people  with 
great  terror,  as  they  had  tasted  deeply  before  and  there- 
fore knew  the  bitterness  of  the  cup.  In  the  first  fear, 
the  McDougal  Street  Church  appointed  a  day  of  fasting 
and  pmyer.  At  the  opening  of  the  meeting  Mr.  Dun- 
bar read  the  91st  Psalm,  and  was  there  enabled  to 
repose  full   contidence  in  its  blessed  promises.     Strange 


CHOLEBA  SEASONv 


111 


to  say,  through  all  that  season  not  even  an  in&nt  be- 
longing to  one  of  their  families  died  from  any  disease, 
a  thing  unknown  before  for  so  long  a  period  in  that  large 
congregation. 


f  \  -iiM^',  «te  (V-lt^. 


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tf***' 


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^*^.^4s#^?ir 


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m¥* 


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^  .,.^4l;«ki£?*?f  ;^ii!>\:Ht*r^-i^,^^^ 


'  CHAPTER  XIV. 

Voyage  to  Burope  —  Visits  his  Old  Home  on  the  Spey  —  His  Intercourse  with  the 
People  —  Labors  publicly  and  from  House  to  House  —  Interest  in  Scotch 
Baptists  —  A  Highland  Missionary  Meeting  —  Giving  to  the  Poor,  lending  to 
the  Lord  —  A  Search  for  Hidden  Baptists  —  Desire  to  Labor  in  his  Native  Land. 


i'N  the  spring  of  1836,  Mr.  Dunbar  viras  attacked  with 
an  affection  of  the  throat,  which  entirely  disabled  him 
for  his  public  duties.  His  physician,  finding  that  the 
disease  did  not  yield  to  the  ordinary  remedies,  called  in 
a  council  of  eminent  practitioners.  It  was  Sunday 
morning,  and,  after  hours  spent  together,  they  decided  that  a 
sea  voyage,  with  perfect  rest  and  the  fresh  air  of  his  native 
;  mountains,  were  the  only  remedies,  and  advised  that  the 
change  be  tried  with  all  possible  speed.  The  church,  ever 
kind  and  sympathizing,  entered  into  the  case  with  their 
usual  spirit,  and  generously  continued  his  salary,  beside  mak- 
ing up  a  handsome  purse  for  his  expenses,  and  insisting  upon 
Mrs.  Dunbar's  accompanying  him,  —  as  he  was  quite  too 
feeble  to  undertake  the  voyage  alone.  No  time  was  to  bo 
lost.  He  himself  had  built  strong  hopes  of  recovery  on  the 
virtues  of  his  native  mountain  air ;  but  he  had  not  to  wait 
even  for  this.  He  had  been  on  the  sea  but  a  short  time 
when  his  symptoms  changed ;  and  before  he  reached  the 
other  shore  his  cough  was  gone,  and  he  in  comparative 
health.  Leaving  Mrs.  Dunbar  and  his  son  —  who  had 
ac(;«)inpanied  them  —  with  their  relatives  in  Arbroath,  lie 
hastened  north,  impatient  to  see  once  more  his  beloved  hills, 
the  dear  old  Spey,  and  the  few  friends  whom  death  had 

(112) 


VOYAGE  TO  EUBOPE. 


118 


spared  him  ;  for  both  father  and  mother  were  now  gone. 
He  reached  Grantown  late  at  night,  but  could  not  wait  for 
morning  to  visit  his  home,  where  his  eldest  brother  then 
Uved.  Leaving  the  hotel,  he  walked  to  the  house  and 
knocked  at  the  door.  It  seems  that  the  people  of  Grantown 
had,  for  several  days,  been  annoyed  and  alarmed  by  an  in- 
sane man  who  had  escaped  from  his  friends ;  and  Mr.  D.'s 
brother,  not  caring  to  run  the  risk  of  admitting  him, 
asked  from  a  window  who  was  there.  The  reply  was, 
"  A  stranger,  very  weary,  who  wants  a  night's  shelter." 
He  was  informed  that  a  good  hotel,  "  The  Grant's  Arms 
Inn,"  was  quite  near.  But  still  he  insisted  that  he  *^  was 
very  weary,  and  could  go  no  farther."  After  a  httle  parley, 
the  brother  asked  the  stranger  where  he  had  come  from ; 
and  when  he  replied,  "America,"  the  door  flew  open  as  if 
by  magic  I  That  one  word  was  a  charm  there,  as  in 
thousands  of  homes  over  the  sea,  for  the  sake  of  the  be- 
loved ones  who  have  chosen  the  New  World  as  their  coun- 
ter-     ^  ^  ir£ih  :^  '  .     -^  yy-n-ipmkM 

A  minister  now  settled  near  New  York,  who  in  his 
youth  was  a  member  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  church,  and  who 
loved  and  reverenced  him  as  a  father,  visited,  some  yearfe 
ago,  his  own  native  Scotland,  and  for  his  sake  went  to 
Grantown.  There  he  met  with  many  who  had  known 
his  beloved  friend  in  his  early  years.     He  writes :  — 

"  In  1836,  Mr.  Dunbar  made  his  first  visit  to  his  native 
land  after  settling  in  America,  and  that  was  a  year  never 
to  be  forgotten  in  Grantown  and  vicinity.  The  clergy 
of  Scotland  have  always  entertained  the  idea  that  they 
must  keep  the  people  at  a  respectful  distance ;  so  that  the 
children  grow  up  not  only  to  reverence,  but  also  to  fear, 
their  minister.  There  was  still  a  terror  hanging  over  the 
children  in  Grantown,  so  that  some  of  them  took  good 

10* 


114 


^^BUNOAN  DUNBAR. 


care  to  keep  out  of  the  way  when  tliey  saw  a  mmistiBr 
coming.  The  manner  of  my  beloved  friend,  so  cordial 
and  so  familiar,  while  commanding  the  respect  of  all, 
astonished  the  people  and  won  their  hearts.  He  went 
round  from  house  to  house,  and  crowds  followed  him. 
He  told  them  of  America,  where  nearly  all  of  them  had 
some  beloved  fiiend,  related  the  dealings  of  God  with 
sinners  there,  sang  hymns,  and  prayed.  When  he  had 
once  secured  the  hearts  of  the  people,  his  conversation 
became  wholly  spiritual.  He  nreachec'  every  night,  f-nd 
the  congregation  would  sometimes  hang  around  hJni  till 
after  midnight.  The  little  church  in  Grantown  was  thus 
greatly  revived  and  enlarged  through  his  labors,  while  his 
heart  and  that  of  his  early  fiiend,  the  pastor,  were  cheered 
and  rejoiced.*' 

"^  With  all  his  broad  Christian  charity,  Mr.  Dunbar  was  a 
firm  and  consistent  Baptist,  always  idenijVin£;  himself 
with  his  own  people  wherever  he  went,  nc  matter  how 
insignificant  a  body  they  might  be.  In  this  visit  his  heart 
was  drawn  oat  with  peculiar  tenderness  toward  the 
Scotch  Baptisits,  few,  and  scattered^  and  rent  as  they  were. 
When  asked  to  preach  for  others,  \/hose  kind  attentions 
he  had  received  and  whose  friendship  he  prized,  he  would 
often  say,  "Ah,  brethren,  you  are  large  and  strong,  and 
do  not  need  me ;  therefore,  what  little  influence  I  have 
must  be  given  to  the  poor  Baptist  Church,  who  do  need 
aid  and  encouragement."  None  took  offence,  but  all 
admired  his  stem  principle  and  real  consistency.  God 
honored  him  greatly  during  this  visit,  and  the  memory  of 
it  was  ever  precious  to  him. 

While  in  the  Highlands,  he  was  invited  to  make  a 
speech  at  a  county  missionary  society.  The  collection,  if 
we  remember  right,  was  taken  up  before  the  appeals  were 


HIGHLAND  MISSIONARY  MEETINO. 


115 


made,  or  else  slipped  into  boxes  as  each  donor  entered  the 
vestibule.  The  small  amount  for  a  county  quite  astonished 
one  who  had  such  power  over  the  purse-strings,  and  was 
taken  for  his  theme.  Addressing  the  gentleman  presiding, 
—  an  officer  in  Her  Majesty's  service,  —  he  began  by  com- 
paring the  aggressions  of  Christianity  upon  heathenism 
with  those  of  one  great  nation  on  another  in  time  of  war. 
"  You  know,  sir,"  he  said,  **  that  money  is  the  sinews  of 
war ;  what  would  it  avail  that  you  were  ordered  out  with 
a  fleet  unless  you  had  money  to  carry  on  the  expedition  ? 
His  Majesty  would  never  dream  of  sending  his  brave 
sailors  into  hostile  ports  without  providing  them  with  sails 
and  spars,  provisions,  guns,  and  ammunition.  For  this  he 
must  have  money.  And  so  must  we  have  these  *  Jnews 
of  war,'  to  carry  on  the  conflict  between  light  and  dark- 
ness. I  am  pained  that  a  -^zhole  county  should  raise  so 
small  a  sum  as  £  .  I  will  here  pledge  my  Uttle  band 
of  Baptist  brethren,  few  and  feeble  as  they  are,  to  add 
enough  next  Lord's  day  to  double  the  amount."  That 
promise  was  Ailfilled. 

During  this  visit  to  his  native  land,  he  received  many 
tokens  of  the  divine  favor  in  direct  answer  to  the  prayer 
of  faith.  Having  met  with  a  dear  friend  of  his  early  days, 
at  the  time  a  widow  and  in  depressed  circumstances,  he 
felt  the  duty  of  aiding  her  very  strongly  pressing  upon  his 
mind.  He  was  far  from  home,  with  his  wife  and  son,  and 
thus  under  great  expenses ;  and  the  homeward  voyage 
with  its  nameless  outlays  before  him.  But  acting  as  a 
faithful  steward  under  the  eye  of  his  master,  he  "  gave  her," 
as  he  said,  "  a  few  pounds ;  "  and  leaving  it  with  God; 
he  thought  no  more  about  it. 

A  few  days  after  this  he  was  invited  to  dine  with  Rev. 
Mr.  Haldane,  and  as  he  was  leaving  him,  that  gentleman, 


116 


r\n: 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB.  MCm 


himself  wealthy,  said, "  Mr., Dunbar,  few  ministers  are  rich- 
er than  they  need  be,  and  your  voyage  in  search  of  health 
must  prove  very  expensive ;  I  want  you  to  accept  this  as  a 
personal  gift  from  me."  It  was  tlia  very  sum  he  had  given 
away  at  what  he  believed  the  call  of  God.  Who  can 
doubt  that  the  Husband  of  the  widow  was  thus  acknowledg- 
ing the  act  of  mercy  performed  with  such  calm  and  ear- 
nest trust  in  his  word  of  promise,  "  He  that  giveth  to  the 
poor  lendeth  to  the  Lord,  and  he  will  repay  him  again." 

"  About  this  time,"  writes  a  friend,  "  he  passed  a  night 
at  the  house  of  my  father  in  Aberdeen.  On  coming  in 
late  from  a  distant  part  of  the  city  he  found  that  he  had 
lost  a  sovereign  from  his  pocket.  My  father  offered  to  take 
a  lantern  and  return  with  him  to  look  for  it ;  but  he  said, 
*  No,  it  was  lost  through  no  carelessness,  and  perhaps  it 
may  be  God's  purpose  that  some  poor  widow  may  find  it 
•  early  in  the  morning,  and  buy  her  children's  breakfast 
with  it ;  let  it  go.'  These  worthy  old  people  often  spoke 
of  this  aflerward,  saying,  *  they  ne'er  saw  the  like  o'  him  in 
a'  their  days.  They  believed  he  wad  gie  awa'  his  last 
bawbee  til'  ony  puir  body.'      r.-.  -u  ':.,vA\;:rA 

**  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  on  the  following  morning 
another  sovereign,  the  gift  of  a  friend  who  knew  nothing 
of  the  circumstance,  took  the  place  of  the  lost  one,  in  his 
purse." 

While  the  guest  of  a  noble  gentleman  in  the  north  of 
Scotland,  a  little  dinner  party  was  given  for  him,  at  which 
were  the  principal  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood,  both 
clergy  and  laity.     At  table,  Mr.  Dunbar  remarked  that 

he  had  inquired  in  vain  of  Mrs. whether  there  wtre 

any  Baptists  in  the  place,  but  perhaps  the  Kirk  minister 
or  some  one  else  present  could  tell  him. 

A  gentleman  then  said,  "  There  is  no  Baptist  place  ot 


HIDDEN  BAPTISTS. 


117 


worship  here,  but  there  are  individuals  of  your  faith.  *  I 
know  one  myself,  and  a  very  worthy  man  he  is.  I  will 
give  you  his  address,  and  he  can  tell  you  all  about  those 
brethren  of  yours,"  he  added  with  a  smile.  - 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Dunbar,  "  I'll  ferret  them  out  ' 
if  there  are  any.    1  find  my  people  in  Scotland  have  a  great 
habit  of  hiding  themselves  in  comers."  '^  '^-IM^'^': 

He  was  directed  to  the  one  discoverable  Baptist,  and  from 
him  learned  the  location  of  their  place  of  worship.  It  was 
something  like  this :  "  Go  up  — —  street,  till  you  come  to 

a 'close;'  turning  in  by  the  store  of ,  follow 

that  till  you  come  to  a  narrower  *  close,'  and  go  up  that 
till  you  see  a  cooper's  shop.     Beside  that  is  a  flight  of  out-;. 
side  stairs ;  go  up  them,  and  turn  to  your  right  till  you 
come  to  another  flight,  and  at  the  head  of  these  ye' 11  find 
the  room  we  meet  in."  -,  •-,  ...,;:;,> 

"  How  long  has  your  church  been  formed  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Dunbar. 

"  Twenty  years  or  thereabout,  and  we've  worshipped 
all  the  time  in  yon  same  room,"  was  the  good  man's 
reply. 

"  How  large  is  your  church  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Dunbar.         i 

"  We  have  about  twenty-five  or  thirty  members,  sir." 

"  And  how  large  a  congregation  ?  " 

"  Thirty-five  or  forty ;  just  ourselves  and  our  own  chil- 
dren, sir." 

"  And  you  are  real  Baptists,  —  are  you  ?  "         ^^f  .  ^  «' 

"Oh,  ay,  sir,  we  are  indeed."  '  •     .  .  «.- 

"And  you  believe  that  your  principles  are  of  suffi- 
cient importance  to  warrant  your  separating  yourselves 
from  your  Christian  brethren  of  other  denominations? " 

"Ay,  sir,  we  do."     -      '-— •-  -■•   •  ^°-=:H*vf  t*m&  -f^i<m 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear  man,  what  are  you  thinking  of? 


-fc.«£r.-!,fkI-'iJ2.'.i' 


.vJ■.i^(I."J^:,j~^feW■.    - 


118 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


You  believe  that  God's  will  is  revealed  plainly  to  you  on 
a  disputed  point,  and  that  you  must  bear  your  testimony 
on  the  subject  to  your  fellow-men;  and  yet  you  hide 
yourselves  as  if  ashamed  of  your   sentiments.     I  have 

been  in  a  week,  inquiring  of  every  one  if  there 

were  any  of  my  own  denomination  here;  and  not  till 
yesterday  could  I  find  a  person  who  had  ever  heard  cf 
one  I  You  see  what  progress  you  are  making  in  that 
*  upper  chamber.'  You  have  in  twenty  years  gathered  a 
congregation  of  thirty -five  or  forty  1  If  I  could  stay  a 
little  while,  I  would  draw  you  out  of  that  *  close '  into  a 
place  where  men  could  find  you.  I  would  preach  and 
pray  and  sing  with  you  till  every  man  and  woman  should 
ask,  *  Who  are  these  people,  and  what  do  they  believe,  that 
they  are  so  earnest  ? '  I  should  let  all  in  town  know  in 
twenty-four  hours  that  there  was  a  Baptist  church  here. 
If  your  opinions  are  of  no  importance,  you  should  have 
stayed  where  the  gospel  is  preached  by  good  men,  not  Bap- 
tists ;  if  they  are,  you  should  tell  your  friends  and  neigh- 
bors your  reason  for  breaking  up  your  old  relations. 
When  Christ  came  to  establish  the  first  Christian  church, 
he  and  his  disciples  sometimes  met  in  an  upper  chamber 
for  fear  of  the  Jews ;  but  they  didn't  stay  there  comfort- 
ing each  other  in  the  hopes  beyond.  They  went  out  and 
preached  by  the  wayside,  on  the  shore,  in  the  market- 
place,—  wherever  they  Qould  reach  men.  Now,  my  dear 
man,  if  they  had  lived  and  died  in  that  upper  chamber,  as 
you  are  doing,  how  far  do  you  think  their  teaching  and 
example  would  have  spread  ?  If  your  people  ever  expect 
to  do  anything  in  Scotland,  they  will  have  to  follow  their 
fbotstepe."  ,  .^      ...  :     „ 

Soon  afler  this,  Mr.  Dunbar  returned  to  America,  but 
his  heart  was  full  of  love  to  these  brethren,  and  he  felt  a 


HIDD£N   BAPTISTS. 


119 


strong  desire  to  see  them  arise  and  labor,  and  become  a 
power  for  good  in  the  land.  He  could  cry  with  John 
Knox,  "  Give  me  Scotland,  or  I  die." 

It  was  at  this  time  Mr.  Dunbar's  full  intention  to  re- 
turn again  with  his  family  and  lay  the  foundation  of  a 
mission  among  his  brethren,  striviug  to  form  the  many 
little  scattered  bands  into  regular  churches,  under  judi- 
cious and  well-qualified  pastors.  He  corresponded  with 
many  of  the  most  influential  men  in  the  denomination, 
and  received  much  encouragement  from  all  with  whom 
he  conversed.  But  this  was  not  in  God's  will  concern- 
ing him ;  he  had  still  work  to  do  in  McDougal  Street. 
There  were  very  many  souls  yet  to  be  given  him  there, 
and  there  were  storms  and  darkness  before  the  church, 
through  which  he  was  to  stand  at  the  helm  and  guide 
her  into  calmer  waters.  His  Master  had  drawn  out  a  plan 
for  him,  and»  although  at  times  he  panted  for  work  at 
home,  he  fell  cheerfully  into  his  own  place,  not  daring 
to  go  contrary  to  the  Divine  will.  His  interest  in 
this  subject  ended  only  with  his  life.  Othei*  hands  must 
take  up  the  work  he  planned  and  carry  it  to  perfection. 
Whose  shall  they  be  ?  ^ 


..»e>:  .■'.*)--, 


'■^-■1   «:&•'..  J:!^-.; 


?r      ;i.>;.i.;s.!.  VJ:tf' 


';:^»f»^|i.,  4ri>^.    /■•;■ 


CHAPTER  XV. 


v-n   ..i}-.i;  r?>/ ',>/■,,. 


first  Raeord  of  Interest  in  the  Negro  —  Pro-Slavery  Riots  of  1884  —  His  Cliurch  formed 

on  Anti-Slavery  Principles  —  Associational  Letters  —  The  Triennial  ConTention  at 

A    Richmond  (1885)— A  Pious  Slaveholder— A  Distracted  Mother  — A  Visitor  from 

.    Florida  —  His  Model  Christian  —  Ned  Dudley  —  Buying  Sally  —  The  Rolls  Slaves  — 

John  D ;  how  God  rewarded  bis  humble  Hospitality.    ^ 

JHEN  Mr.  Dunbar  was  residing  in  New  Bruns- 
wick, he  received  an  invitation  from  the  Baptist 
Church  in  Frederickton,  probably  in  the  year 
1819,  to  become  their  pastor.  From  his  reply  we 
extract  the  following :  — 

"  If  God,  by  his  sovereign  grace,  should  add  to 
your  number  any  of  the  unfortunate  sons  and  daughters  of 
Africa,  would  you,  as  a  church,  be  willing,  without  respect 
of  persons,  to  treat  them  as  the  redeemed  of  the  Lord  in  all 
things  relating  to  the  ordinances  and  privileges  of  the  gos- 
pel, and  to  discipline  them  according  to  the  laws  of  Christ, 
when  it  appeared  at  any  time  they  abused  such  privileges 
as  food  for  their  pride  ?  " 

This  is  the  first  record  we  find  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  peculiar 
sympathy  for  the  oppressed  people  of  color.  The  journal 
l.c  kept  of  his  labors  in  New  Brunswick  frequently  al- 
luded to  this  class  in  th^  same  spirit.  It  was  of  his  gener- 
ous and  kindly  nature,  and  also  an  inseparable  part  of  his 
religion,  as  a  follower  of  Christ,  to  feel  for  the  suffering 
and  outcast  of  every  r-^,,  e  and  color. 
.  In  New  York,  he  identified  himself  frilly  with  anti-sla- 
very men,  and  was  at  one  time  president  of  the  New  York 
(lao) 


PRO-SLAVERY  RIOTS. 


121 


City  Anti-Slavery  Society,  never  hesitating,  in  public  or  in 
private,  to  utter  his  opinion  of  slavery  as  a  great  crime 
against  God  and  humanity.  And  this  he  did  when  it 
cost  something  to  be  an  abolitionist,  —  when  that  name  was 
a  term  of  reproach,  and  not  seldom  involved  persecution. 
Amid  the  frightful  riots  which  disgraced  New  York  in 
the  year  1834,  and  which  terrified  into  silence  some  noted 
associates  in  the  anti-slavery  cause,  he  maintain  d  his  con- 
sistency., continuing  through  all  opposition  a  stanch  and 
outspoken  friend  of  human  liberty. 

While  the  rioters  were  battering  the  windows  of  the 
Spring  Street  Presbyterian  Church,  on  the  right  hand, 
and  the  private  residence  of  Dr.  Samuel  H.  Cox,  on 
the  left,  and  alarming  the  whole  city,  a  cautious  brother 
in  Mr.  Dunbar's  church,  knowing  that  his  pastor  had  re- 
cently appeared  on  the  platform,  at  a  meeting  of  the  Amer- 
ican and  Foreign  Anti-Slavery  Society, —  a  meeting  which 
was  particularly  offensive  to  the  enemies  of  freedom,  — 
came  and  offered  to  unscrew  his  door-plate,  lest  the  riot- 
ers should  assail  his  house,  which,  with  others  belonging 
to  obnoxious  individuals,  had  been  marked  for  attack.  "  Bv 
no  means,  my  brother,"  was  the  calm  but  firm  reply.  "  I 
have  done  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,  and  I  will  not  hide 
my  colors."  ■''f- 

The  church  over  which  he  presided  in  New  York  was 
formed  while  slavery  was  yet  existing  in  the  State,  and  it 
held  an  almost  solitary  distinction  as  expressly  recognizing 
thj  full  rights  of  man.  One  of  its  articles  of  faith  declared 
disfellowship  of  all  who  held  slaves,  or  trafficked  in  human 
beings. 

The  annual  letters  of  this  church  to  the  Association,  af- 
ter Mr.  Dunbar  became  their  pastor,  which  were  written 
by  him,  breath  the  spirit  of  freedom,  and,  in  the  light 
11 


.122 


PUNGA17  D^NBAB. 


of  current  events  (1865),  seem  almost  prophetic.  They 
were  not  always  listened  to  with  pleasure  ;  for  many  good 
men  in  that  day  were  averse  to  the  agitation  of  the 
subject  of  slavery  as  threatening  the  peace  of  Zion.  Some 
of  them  warned  him,  plead  with  him,  and  even  rebuked 
him ;  but  speak  he  must,  and  speak  he  did,  whether  men 
would  hear  or  forbear.  He  hved  to  see  the  complete 
triumph  of  the  views  which  he  so  long  maintained  almost 
single-handed  and  amid  much  reproach. 

We  select  a  few  passages  from  these  letters,  the  first 
dated  May  81,  1836  :  — 

"  In  every  quarter  of  the  globe  tyrants  are  beginning  to 
tremble,  and  there  is  a  growing  conviction  among  civilized 
communities  that  Bible  knowledge  and  human  liberty 
must  perish  or  prosper  together.  Ethiopia  has  long  been 
stretching  out  her  hands  unto  God  for  help,  and  it  can  no 
longer  be  concealed  that  the  blood  and  tears  of  her  op- 
pressed and  enslaved  oflfepring,  held  in  cruel  and  unjust 
bondage  in  portions  of  our  own  favored  land,  have  at  length 
prevailed  with  God.  The  wgns  of  the  times  manifestly 
indicate  to  every  unprejudiced  observer  that  the  Ruler  of 
the  universe  is  about  to  vindicate  then:  rights,  and  to  cover 
with  merited  reproach  and  contempt  their  unmerciful,  av- 
aricious oppressors. 

"  Dear  brethren,  it  is  known  to  you  that  in  some  parts 
of  our  country  the  privilege  of  learning  to  read  the  stat- 
utes of  heaven  and  the  record  of  the  glorious  gospel  of  the 
blessed  God  is  by  law  denied  to  the  unhappy  sons  and 
daughters  of  injured  Africa  ;  nor  is  it  a  secret  that  pastors 
and  church-members  sell  to  the  highest  bidder  their 
brethren  and  sisters  in  Christ,  communicants  with  them  at 
the  table  of  the  Lord  I  And  when  we  inform  you  that  it 
is  an  article  of  our  taith,  in  which  we  have  been  long  and 


UTTTEBS. 


128 


s,  the  first 


happily  united  as  a  church,  *  that  no  slave-holder,  or 
person  that  traffics  in  human  beings,  is  a  fit  member  of  a 
church  of  Christ,'  you  will  not  wonder  that,  as  friends  of 
God  and  of  man,  we  should  in  this  place  congratulate  our- 
selves and  you  on  the  evidences  which  thicken  around  us 
that  God  is  about  to  banish  from  his  churches  and  from 
the  land  the  guilt  and  disgrace  which  the  shameful  system 
of  slavery  has  entailed  upon  them.  Surely,  brethren,  *the 
needy  shall  not  always  be  forgotten,'  for  *  God  is  a  refuge 
for  the  oppressed  ;  *  and  shall  not  we.  Baptists,  above  all 
people  who  are  blessed  with  liberty  and  the  free  pursuit 
of  happiness,  lif^  up  one  united  cry  to  the  throne  of 
mercy  and  justice,  that  liberty,  political  and  religious,  may 
be  speedily  and  universally  proclaimed  and  enjoyed,  from 
the  rising  of  the  sun  to  the  going  down  of  the  same,  until 
the  whole  earth  shall  be  *  filled  with  the  knowledge  of  the 
Lord?'" 

Again,  in  1839  :  — 

"  How  painful,  after  having,  as  a  denomination,  suf- 
fered for  our  love  of  liberty  and  defence  oi  the  universal 
rights  of  conscience  as  the  gifl  of  God  to  il  mankind,  to 
hear  it  stated  that  at  the  South,  the  Baptists,  both 
ministers  and  people,  are  generally  slave-holders  ;  while 
those  at  the  North  usually  neglect,  as  a  matter  of  pru- 
dence, to  plead  the  cause  of  the  oppressed  I  Brethren,  has 
it  come  to  this  with  us  Baptists  ?  No,  blessed  be  God  ! 
We  have  to  inform  you  with  gratitude  to  the  compas- 
sionate Redeemer,  who  has  all  power  in  heaven  and 
upon  earth,  that  every  Baptist  Association  but  one,  in 
a.!  Massachusetts,  passed  resolutions  at  its  annual  ses- 
sion, last  year,  condemnatory  of  the  horrid  system  of 
slavery  as  it  exists  in  this  country.  In  October,  1837, 
a  Convention  of  Baptists  in  New  Hampshire,  representing 


124 


X 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


8500  members,  unanimously  denounced,  in  strong  reso» 
lutions,  American  Slavery  as  a  system  of  robbery  the  most 

aggravated And,  as  we  have  ascertained 

to  our  satisfaction,  that  in  every  portion  of  our  free 
States  except  the  cities  of  New  York,  Boston,  and 
Philadelphia,  and  some  few  towns  of  less  note,  our 
brethren  have  looked  at  the  subject,  and  are  more  than 
beginning  to  act,  we  cherish  the  blessed  hope  that  the  guilt 
and  reproach  of  this  cursed  system  of  slavery  will  soon  be 
wiped  away  from  the  escutcheon  of  American  Baptists.*' 

The  next  is  dated  May  31,  1842,  addressed  to  the  N. 
Y.  Association,  meeting  with  the  First  Church,  Broome 
street,  New  York  :  — 

"  We  moreover  hope  that  the  claims  of  oppressed 
humanity  will  not  forever  be  shut  out  from  the  sympathies 
and  deliberations  of  the  New  York  Baptist  Association. 
We  are  perfectly  aware  that  this  department  of  Christian 
philanthropy  is  unpopular  in  the  eye  of  political  partisans, 
and  that  time-serving  professors  of  Christianity  will  con- 
temptuously frown  upon  the  very  efforts  which  the 
providence  of  God  may  put  forth  to  break  every  yoke 
and  to  let  the  oppressed  go  free  ;  but,  dear  brethren,  we 
shall  continue  to  hope  better  things  of  you.  The  holy 
religion  which  you  profess  is  emphatically  a  system  of  love 
and  mercy,  and  of  good  will  to  men.  As  sinners  emanci- 
pated from  the  tyranny  of  Satan  and  the  slavery  of  sin, 
you  represent  among  men  the  benevolence  and  compassion 
of  your  great  and  gracious  Deliverer  ;  and  as  baptized 
followers  of  the  blessed  Son  of  God,  you  glory  in  the  op- 
pressed and  incarcerated  Bunyan,  and  the  insulted,  per- 
secuted, and  expatriated  founder  of  Rhode  Island. 

"  For  the  oppression  of  the  poor,  and  for  the  sighing  of 
the  needy  in  this  land,  God  has  manifestly    risen.     His  to* 


'^^ 


TRIENNIAL  CONVENTION. 


125 


kens  are  clearly  perceived  and  understood  by  Christiana^ 
philosophers,  and  statesmen  throughout  the  civilized 
world,  and  no  man  who  is  at  all  conversant  with  the 
character  of  eternal  justice,  the  past  history  of  Provi- 
dence, and  the  equity  of  the  divine  government,  can  hesi- 
tate to  augur  that  the  ultimate,  perhaps  speedy  result 
must  be  the  triumph  of  liberty  to  every  captive,  especially 
in  this  land.  The  rod  of  every  oppressor  shall  then  be 
broken  in  pieces,  and  all  who  are  found,  either  by  their 
marked  silence  or  open  sympathy,  abetting  the  enslavers 
of  their  helpless  fellow-men,  shall  then  be  covered  with 
shame.  God  forbid  that  your  beloved  body  should  be 
among  the  Jast  of  the  associated  churches  of  the  Redeemer, 
to  procknn  before  heaven  and  earth  that  liberty,  —  civil 
and  religious  liberty  —  is,  by  the  gift  of  the  adorable  Cre- 
ator, one  of  the  most  sacred  and  inalienable  rights  of  man, 
and  that  you  regard  this  high  principle  as  extending  to 
all  who  bear  our  common  nature.  Let  it  be  remembered^ 
dear  brethren^  that  the  North  Beriah  Baptist  Church  dis- 
claims  all  participation  or  responsibility  in  the  act  which 
expunged  from  your  Annual  Minutes  the  harmless  but 
honorable  *  Resolution  '  which^  for  two  successive  years^  ap- 
peared on  their  pages,  recommending  prayer  to  the  God  of 
mercy  for  light  and  iirection  upon  this  important  subject.'^ 
In  1885  the  Triennial  Convention  held  its  eighth 
session  in  Richmond,  Va.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Cox  and 
tlie  Rev.  Mr.  (now  Dr.)  Hoby  were  present,  as  dele- 
gates from  the  Baptist  Union  in  England.  Mr.  Dunbar 
went  to  the  meeting  with  little  love  for  slavery,  but 
he  came  home  with  less.  He  was  the  guest  of 
a  widow,  a  lady  of  position  in  the  church  and  the 
world,    and    who   extended   to    hl-u    and   the    brethren 

with   him    the    largest    hospitality.     They   had   men    to 
11* 


126 


%>vj  DUNCAN  DUNBAB^ 


brush  their  coats  and  black  their  boots,  and  perform  all 
the  little  services  for  them,  which,  in  their  homes,  where 
labor  was  honorable,  they  themselves  were  accustomed 
to  do.  They  were  now  seeing,  in  domestic  life,  the  sunny 
side  of  slavery,  and  were  in  danger  of  coming  thence, 
as  other  Northern  Christians  had  done,  with  eyes  so 
dazzled  by  the  false  light  as  to  be  blind  to-  the  dreadful  re- 
ality.   But  Providence  let  them  in  behind  the  scenes. 

They  had  noticed  the  day  they  took  up  their  abode 
with  this  slave-holding  sister,  a  gray-haired  negress,  sitting 
on  the  steps  of  the  back  area,  wringing  her  hards  and 
swinging  her  form  to  and  fro,  as  if  in  speechless  agony. 
Seeing  her  again  and  again  in  the  same  place  and  attitude, 
they  decided  that  she  was  insane,  and  Mr.  Dunbar's  sym- 
pathy was  greatly  excited  for  her.  One  morning,  he  asked 
of  a  fine  fellow  who  was  brushing  his  coat,  and  who  was, 
by  the  way,  the  son  of  a  prominent  gentleman  and  high 
functionary,  the  cause  of  the  old  woman's  grief. 

With  a  solemn  face,  and  a  glance  which  told  how  deeply 
the  iron  had  entered  into  his  own  soul,  he  replied,  "  She's 
losing  her  mind,  sir."  -V  ,  ^,, 

"  From  what  cause  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  brethren,  who 
was  listening.     .....,..,  v -,..;■-■?:.,- ^v    -  -^  .--■  ■-•■",-.■'- .U;?' ^^a?.v- 

The  noble  fellow  looked  around  him  cautiously,  and  then 
replied  in  a  subdued  tone,  **  She  had  two  fine  boys,  sir, 
and  missus  sold  them,  two  weeks  ago,  to  a  dkiver ;  and 
they's  gone  with  a  gang  down  to  the  rice-swamps.  She'll 
never  see  them  again,  gentlemen,  and  she  knows  it.  They 
say  she  cannot  eat  or  sleep,  and  that  her  mind  is  leaving 
her  mighty  fast." 

With  this  fact  and  the  picture  of  the  poor  distiticted 
mother  in  their  minds,  these  ministers  of  the  gospel  which 
proclaims  liberty  to  the  captive  and  opening  of  the  prison- 


TRIENNIAL  CONYENTiON. 


127 


doors  to  them  that  are  bouncr,  bad  to  attend  those  meet- 
ings, where  slavery  strove  to  rule  the  house,  shutting  the 
lips  of  many  a  Northern  Christian,  and  causing  some  tu 
bow  the  knee  at  her  bloody  shrine. 

One  morning,  several  of  the  ministers,  determining  to 
see  the  lion  at  his  prey  as  well  as  on  exhibition  for  good 
behavior,  agreed  to  go  at  sunrise  to  the  caboose,  and  see 
if  woman-whipping  and  kindred  horrors  were  unblushingly 
practised  in  the  United  States.  They  came  for  Mr.  Dun- 
bar to  accompany  them  ;  but  he  replied,  "  I  dare  not  trust 
myself  there  ;  for  I  know  I  could  not  stand  quietly  by  and 
see  it.     I  might  snatch  the  whip,  and  change  victims  I  "- 

The  meagre  record  of  proceedings,  given  in  the  annual 
report  for  1835,  would  leave  the  impression  of  a  united  and 
peaceful  session,  free  from  the  slightest  allusion  to  the 
troublesome  question  of  slavery.  To  outward  appearance  it 
was,  indeed,  unlike  those  stormy  meetings  which  occurred 
afterward  in  Baltimore  and  Philadelphia,  especially  in 
the  latter  city,  when  the  long-repressed  feelings  of 
abolitionists  burst  through  all  artificial  bourds,  and  North 
and  South  met  in  hot  debate.  But  silent  mfluences  were 
even  then  at  work,  in  the  hope  of  compelling  the  North- 
em  churches  to  submission,  if  not  to  an  indorsement  of 
slavery.  Public  discussion  was  discouraged,  because  dark- 
ness does  not  love  the  light.  Mr.  Dunbar,  like  many  oth- 
ers in  the  convention,  felt  a  righteous  indignation  at  these 
insidious  movements  of  the  partisans  of  slavery,  and  longed 
for  the  threatened  division  between  Northern  and  South- 
ern churches,  as  essential  to  the  peace  and  honor  of  Zion, 
and  as  tending  to  hasten  the  downfall  of  slavery. 

Some  time  after  th.ese  scenes  occurred  at  Richmon.l,  a 
friend  called  at  Mr.  Dunbar's  residence,  to  introduce  "  A 
young  ministering  brother,  from  the  everglades  of  Florida." 


128 


4|- 


DUNCAN  DUNBAH. 


Of  course,  the  conversation  soon  turned  to  the  then  ex- 
citing subject  of  slavery,  the  young  man  manifesting  a  great 
desfre  to  enh'ghten  Northern  Christians  and  to  soften  the . 
views  of  all  fanatics.  Mr.  Dunbar  heard  patiently  his  ac- 
count of  the  charms  and  advantages  of  the  "  patriarchal 
system."  The  Southerner  waxed  warm  in  its  defence, 
proving  its  virtues,  to  his  own  satisfaction,  from  the  Bible, 
and  finally  declaring,  "When  I  was  a  theological  student 
at  W.,  I  dropped  my  books,  and  shouldered  my  gun  to 
fight  for  nullification ;  and  if  ever  the  day  should  come 
when  it  is  necessary,  I  will  do  the  same  in  defence  of 
slavery."  ,j.,.;;.:.i.,.  v..:.?.  ,.,.,:,;  a,,,,  ^  . .. 

It  was  new  to  Mr.  Dunbar  to  hear  a  minister  talk  of 
fighting  with  carnal  weapons  in  any  cause ;  but  he  was 
shocked  to  hear  one  vow  *^hat  he  would  do. so  for  a  system 
which  he  believed  to  be  iiccarsed  of  God.  But  the  stranger 
was  in  liis  house,  and  common  courtesy  forbade  him  to 
speak  as  severely  as  he  might  elsewhere  have  done.  When 
the  young  man  8toi)ped  to  take  breath,  Mr.  Dunbar  said, 
"  Now,  my  young  friend,  do  you  not  think  I  have  listened 
long  and  patiently  to  your  views  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then,  I  should  like  to  give  you  mine,  if  you  will 
listen  as  patiently." 

The  stranger  nodded  assent,  when  the  friend  who 
brought  him,  prop'iesying  a  long  session,  withdrew,  his 
guest  promising  to  follow  him  souk.. 

Mr.  Dunbar  very  kindly,  but  with  a  plainness  not  to  be 
mistaken,  then  portrayed  the  system  of  slavery  from  every 
point  of  view  ;  —  as  a  curse  to  the  negro,  to  the  nation,  and 
even  to  the  South  itself.  He  spoke  of  the  inconsistency  of 
siave-holling  Christians,  in  praying  for,  and  sending  the 
gospel  to  the  benighted  abroad,  while  they  had  heathen 


>Mtiitl 


I  I  lil»«ii 


rVw-aitlM- 


m0  ifciiN^tl —*  ""^^   ■Oi'TW  ■i»i^ii^-^|M»«»'*' 


MODEL  SLAVE-HOLDER. 


129 


in  their  fields,  on  their  carriag^boxes,  and  in  their 
kitchens.  '  "■ 

This  was  a  little  more  than  our  theolc^cal  nullifier  was 
ready  to  admit ;  and  he  cited  case  after  case  of  slave-hold- 
<jrs  bribing  their  blacks  to  break  the  laws  of  the  State  by 
learning  to  read ;  and,  finally,  pronounced  the  whole  sys- 
tem Christian  and  philanthropic,  not  holding  it  responsible 
for  the  sins  of  bad  masters,  any  more  than  freedom  should 
be  chargeable  with  the  cruelty  or  neglect  of  wicked  fathers 
toward  their  little  ones.  "  Why,"  he  exclaimed  trium- 
phantly, "  I  could  take  you,  brother  Dunbar,  to  the  house 
of  a  friend  in  Richmond  "  (rather  an  unfortunate  choice 
of  a  place,  for  it  was  even  then  an  offence  in  his  ear) 
"  where  parental  care  is  given  to  the  slaves.  The  mistress 
is  a  leading  Baptist  lady,  of  great  piety  and  intelligence. 
When  I  stopped  there  on  my  way  North,  she  and  her 
daughters  gathered  the  family  of  blacks  in  the  large  dining- 
hall  on  Sabbath  evening,  and  taught  them  lessons  from 
Scripture,  many  of  the  men  and  women  answering  as  cor* 
rectly  as  Sunday-school  children  would  have  done.  This 
lady  is  very  benevolent  to  the  poor,  and  very  active  in  the 
church.  An  acquaintance  with  her  and  others  of  her 
class,  would,  I'm  very  sure,  sir,  modify  your  viewg." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  this  friend  of  yours  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Dunbar,  with  an  arch  smile. 

«  Mrs.  — 


99 


"  Yes,  and  she  lives  in street,  does  she  not  ?  "      x 

"  She  does,"  replied  the  young  man  in  surprise.     "  Do 

you  know  her?"  '  Ci^;v«i'  vt 

"  I  do ;  and  admit  that  she  is,  as  you  say,  a  prominent 

Baptist,  intelligent,  and  active  in  the  church,  and  also  that 

she  is  a  shrewd  business  woman  I "  -         r 


180 


DUNOAN  DUNBAB.  " 


The  stranger  looked  not  a  little  confused,  and  asked, 
"  But  where  did  you  meet  her  ?  " 

■^  "  At  her  own  house  in  Richmond,  sir.  I  was  one 
among  her  many  guests,  and  we  were  sumptuously  enter- 
tained, while  attending  the  Triennial  Convention.  At 
that  very  time  there  was  a  gray-haired  mother  in  her 
house,  owned  by  her,  going  mad  with  grief,  because  this 
active  Baptist  Ohriatian  had  just  sold  her  two  boys,  to  be 
driven  like  cattle  in  a  gang  to  the  rice  plantations  of  the 
far  South  I    Did  you  ever  hear  of  that?  '*  *     ^' 

'»  The  young  man  hesitated,  and  Mr.  Dunbar  asked  again, 
**  Did  you  know  this  ?  "  He  admitted  that  he  did,  but 
assured  Mr.  Dunbar  that  he  did  not  in  the  least  degree 
justify  her  course. 

*^  Ah,  but  this  is  the  one  slave-holding  Christian  whom 
you  have  held  up  to  me  as  a  model,  an  acquaintance  with 
whom  was  to  modify  my  views  of  slavery  I  " 

The  plumes  of  this  young  bird  of  chivalry  drooped  not 
a  little  when  this  arrow  struck  at  his  high  nest ;  but  the 
calm,  fatherly  tone  of  Mr.  Dunbar  gave  him  no  excuse  for 
pecking  at  him,  or  for  fluttering  off  in  a  passion. 

Mr.  Dunbar  then  took  out  his  watch,  and  asked, 
** Have. you  said  freely  all  you  wished  to?" 

i»Yes."  •       ^  ' 

"  And  so  have  I.  Now,  it  is  one  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  you  shall  not  leave  my  house  at  such  an  hour. 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  F.  will  have  given  you  up  and  gone  to  bed ; 
so  you  are  my  guest  for  to-night," 

To  this  the  visitor  cheei-fully  assented ;  and  Mr.  Dun- 
bar said,  *'  I  suppose,  if  I  should  go  to  Florida  and  talk  as 
I  have  here,  they  would  not  thank  me."  " 

"  Mr.  Dunbar,  they'd  hang  you  for  an  abolitionist  I  " 

"  They  would, — would  they  ?   Then  see  the  difference  in 


i,#.niri1iiaii> 


N*** 


»*i*  ii^aHiiiiM  i<gt  I 


«^^^«MW%k«*>*4   o->* 


NED   DUDLET. 


181 


the  spirit  of  the  two  sections.  You  have  said  all  that  is  in 
your  heart  in  favor  of  slavery,  and  yet  you're  not  afraid 
of  us.  You're  going  up  to  my  guest-chamber  to  sleep  as 
quietly  and  securely  as  you  would  on  your  own  pillow  at 

home.  ;-.'T^-i .  .j' iv,-'  !  ■':,     ,f5A'i:.-i    :■■:.   - .      «,,.•:;•.■..      ,'i'.-.-..     v.   1.    "M     •■>' ' '.fTi.iJ'!  ^...■, 

His  guest  smiledf  and  replied,  **  They  would  bear  better 
with  ym  than  with  an  abolitionist,  Mr.  Dunbar." 

"  But  Fm  an  abolitionist,  sir,  out  and  out."  .4     f  ^^:^ 

"  But  you're  not  like  the  rest  of  them."    .  .-v  *«;   v^m*-^. 

"Yes,  I  am,  only  worse  I  I  am  not  willing  to  admit 
that  any  man  alive  abhors  this  system  more  thoroughly 
than  I  do,  root  and  branch  I  "  ,.  i  j.w,,t.>r;  f^^i^a 

And  thus  they  parted  for  the  night ;  the  stranger  cai^ 
rying  to  his  dreams  some  faithful  wounds,  which,  we  fear, 
the  balmy  air  of  Florida  healed  but  too  slightly. 

One  morning,  a  few  days  before  Mr.  Dunbar's  sodden 
vDyage  to  Europe,  in  18^P>,  m  search  of  health,  ^  colored 
man  called  to  see  him,  and,  as  he  said  his  business  was  very 
important,  he  was  ushered  into  the  room  where  Mr.  Dun- 
bar lay  on  a  sofa.  He  introduced  himself  as  "  Ned  Dud- 
ley," formerly  u  slave  in  South  Carolina,  but  now  a  free 
man ;  and  gave  his  story  thus. 

An  old  Scotch  gentleman  named  Simpson,  a  neighbor 
of  Ned's  master,  had  a  fine  estate,  but  beini^  consci- 
entiously opposed  to  owning  his  fellow-men,  hired  servants 
from  his  neighbors.  About  a  year  before  thi^  time  Mr. 
Simpson  fell  sick,  and  Ned,  having  a  good  reputation  as  a 
nurse,  was  hired  by  him  from  his  master,  and  through  long 
months  of  suffering,  acted  in  this  capacity,  fulfilling  his 
duties  tenderly  and  faithfully.  Ned,  beside  being  a  good 
nurse,  was  a  good  Methodist,  and,  we  doubt  not,  honored 
Christ  iu  the  eyes  of  the  gentjeman,  who  one  day  asked 
him  if  he  had  ever  desired  to  be  free.     "  Desired  to  be 


.. ^.  ^^KtJW^rifc  <  »■  P»**Vii*>*  Ml 


'M 


t  ■ 


132 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


free  ?  "  Why,  it  had  been  the  long  dream  of  his  life,  the 
aching  void  v/hich  a  good  home,  plenty  to  eat,  and  liberty 
for  camp-meetings  could  not  fill.  "  Well,  Ned,"  said  the 
gentleman,  "  you  have  been  faithful  and  kind  to  me  in  my 
suffering,  and  I  shall  give  you  your  liberty  before  I  die." 
But,  alas,  he  died  too  soon  for  that,  and  left  Ned  in 
the  dark  prison-house,  made  darker  still  by  the  gleam  of 
light  which  for  a  little  season  had  streamed  in,  and  then  had 
been  shut  out.  Everything  was  trusted  in  his  hands  for  safe- 
keeping until  the  arrival  of  the  young  heir,  Robert  Simp- 
son, from  Scotland,  to  take  the  estate  into  his  hands.  An 
army  could  not  have  guarded  the  treasures  more  faithfully 
than  did  this  poor,  disappointed  Christian  slave.  After  a 
time  the  young  man  arrived,  and  received  the  keys  from 
Ned,  whom  he  had  resolved  to  keep  by  him  wliile  settling 
his  affairs.  Now  this  gentleman  was  no  greater  admirer 
of  the  "  patriarchal  system  "  than  was  his  deceased  uncle* ; 
and  not  unfrequently  did  he  express  his  opinion  of  it  in 
Ned's  presence ;  but  the  poor  fellow  was  too  modest 
to  tell  of  the  promise  made  him  by  the  dead,  and  to  beg  the 

gift  of himself.     When  the  estate  was  settled,  and  its 

owner  was  preparing  to  return  to  Britain,  his  own  noble 
heart  prompted  him  to*  open  the  subject,  and  to  ask, 
"  Would  you  like  to  be  free  ?  "  Ned  replied  as  he  had  done 
to  the  uncle.  "  Well,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  "  spring  on  to 
my  horse,  and  ride  over  and  ask  the  man  what  he  will 
take  for  you."  '      '•    -     "         '■■   'i'      :*-    . 

Probably  that  road  was  never  passed  over  in  the  same 
space  of  time  before.  Ned  was  soon  back  with  his  answer, 
when  Mr.  Simpson,  with  the  noble  generosity  of  the 
freedom-loving  Scot,  advanced  the  sum  required,  and  Ned, 
jubilant  over  his  g-»od  fortune,  hid  his  free  papers  in  his 
bosom. 


,iwM"l**i.ii»it*<i  \tm^itlM^^m,jit.,Mwa 


„B<iiitoriii>i 


U  I       .  I>i  *— fiiiMii 


NED  pnpLEf,^,, 


133 


But  alas  for  the  joys  of  earth  I  No  sooner  had  Ned's 
brow  been  crowned  with  the  chaplet  of  freedom,  than  he 
found  he  must  leave  South  Carohna,  and  thus  separate 
himself  from  Sally,  the  wife  of  his  heart,  who  was  nurse 
and  seamstress  in  her  master's  family,  and  was  to  them  in- 
valuable. But  the  die  was  cast,  and  after  a  farewell, 
which  nearly  broke  their  hearts,  he  made  his  way  North, 
to  earn  Sally's  freedom.  On  reaching  New  York,  he 
told  his  story  to  some  one,  who  said,  "  Go  to  Mr.  Dunbar, 
and  he  will  get  money  for  you  to  buy  your  wife."  He 
had  accordingly  found  bis  way  to  Mr.  Dunbar's  house. 
Among  the  inducements  he  held  out  to  undertake  the 
work  was  this,  '^  Sally  is  a  right  smart  woman,  and  she  is 
a  Baptist,  too,  sir." 

"  But,  Ned,  my  good  fellow,"  repHed  Mr.  D.,  **  you 
see  me  here  sick  ;  day  after  to-morrow  I  sail  for  England ; 
so,  gladly  as  I  would  help  you  to  buy  Sally,  I  cannot 
doit." 

But  still  Ned  lingered,  with  the  painful  expression  of 
"  hope  deferred  "  on  his  face,  suggesting  again  that  Sally 
was  a  good  woman  and  mighty  smart.  --.    -^ 

His  pleading  look  was  too  much  for  the  heart  thus 
suddenly  shut  off  from  all  its  work  of  love,  and  Mr.  Dun- 
bar said,  "  Well,  my  boy,  suppose  you  go  to  England  and 
Scotland  with  mo  ?  I  have  plenty  of  friends  there  who 
will  gladly  give  us  money  to  buy  Sally." 


■V;3v'll  .^ 


"  I'd  go  mighty  quick,  sir,  but  I'^e  got  no  money." 

"  Well,  we'll  see  about  money  ;  you  may  go  down  to 
the  ship  with  mo,  and  see  the  captain."      ,  ,    ..r;    v*tU  . 

Captain  F.,  with  the  noble  generosity  which  characterizes 
the  sons  of  tho  Pca,  offered  to  give  Ned  a  free  passage  if  Mr. 
Dunbar  would  lay  in  a  little  store  of  provisions  for  him.   . 

After  a  short  voyage  they  arrived  in  England.  Mr. 
li 


-jii—.  i..-,.*iJi^^iii.^ 


*'«^'    ■l.ii|ii"«HI'«»nli>*'"l<l»iiili*  *ll««lll«i  '1» 


»ttt—mi> 


wt^ 


•  n 


M 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


Dunbar  had  a  beloved  friend  in  Aberdeen,  Rev.  Mr. 
Brown,  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  a  gentleman  of  wealth 
and  iamily,  to  whose  care  he  felt  quite  free  to  consign  his 
sable  charge.  "?^  ^"-  '*''*'  "   ? 

Ned  was  received  with  the  utmost  kindness,  and  Mr. 
Brown  entered  with  all  his  heart  into  the  case  of  Sally, 
giving  nobly  from  his  own  purse  to  insure  her  freedom. 
His  liberator,  Mr.  Simpson,  also  aided  in  the  work. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  Ned  returned  to  New  York  before 
his  patron,  well  supplied  with  funds  for  his  object. 
Sally's  owner  reluctantly  consented  to  sell  her  to  him 
for  a  high  price,  and  she  was  forwarded  to  New  York. 
She  was  an  interesting,  motherly  person,  quite  fair, 
and  of  very  pleasing  voice  and  manners ;  and,  hav- 
ing served  part  of  her  life  as  house-keeper,  was  com- 
petent to  fill  any  domestic  position.  She  and  Ned  both 
went  into  service,  and  ere  long  were  able  to  have  a 
humble  home  of  their  own,  kept  tidy  by  the  good  Sally, 
and  cheered  by  the  crowing  of  a  little  sable  baby,  whom 
the  grateful  creatures  named  **  Robert  Simpson.'*  They 
maintained  a  good  Christian  character,  and  proved  per- 
fectly able  to  '*  take  care  of  themselves." 

There  was  a  worthy  old  colored  brother,  John  D , 

who  used  to  saw  wood  and  put  in  coal  for  Mr.  Dunbar. 
He  carried  in  his  breast  a  twenty  years'  secret,  which  he 
would  not  that  the  birds  should  carol  out  in  Nansimond 
county,  Virginia  1  .  .     .  • 

One  evening,  Mr.  Dunbar,  needing  old  J.'s  services,  de- 
scended the  steps  leading  to  his  cellar-home  in  Vandam 
street,  and  found  it  crowded  with  sable  guests.  Many 
of  them,  scorning  the  formality  of  chairs,  or  because  the 
demand  exceeded  the  supply,  were  seated  on  the  hospitable 
floor. 


THE  ROLLS  SLAVES. 


185 


"  Yoq  have  company,  I  see,"  Mr.  Dunbar  said. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man.  **  Is'e  found  a  heap  of 
old  friends  to-day  I  They'se  just  landed  in  a  sloop  from 
Virginia,  and  I  was  working  by  the  slip.  I  knew  Uncle 
Gil  the  first  minute  I  see  him.  You  see,  Mr.  Dunbar,"  he 
added,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  I  used  to  live  down 
there  myself  once.  Their  master  was  a  neighbor  to 
my  old  master,  and  now  it  'pears  he's  died  and  lefr  them 
their  freedom.  But  there's  no  justice  in  Virginia,  sir, 
for  our  people.  The  widow  kept  them  till  the  year  'lowed 
for  free  '^^^cks  to  get  out  of  the  State  was  gone,  and 
then  drr  am  off  without  what  he  willed  them.     Here 

they  art,  aii-,  without  a  dollar,  and  they'se  left  a  lot  of  their 
people  behind  for  security  for  their  passages  up."  Here  every 
happy  creature  drew  his  free  papers  ft-om  his  bosom,  with  a 
copy  of  his  master's  will.  Aggy,  the  mother  of  nine  chiU 
dren,  carried  ten  free  papers  and  ten  copies  of  the  will 
about  her  person,  as  other  mothers  would  hide  their  jewels. 

With  the  blessed  legacy  of  freedom,  their  master  had  also 
left  one  third  of  the  personal  estate,  to  convey  them 
to  a  part  of  our  country  where  they  might  enjoy  forever, 
unmolested,  the  blessing  of  freedom. 

"  One  of  the  executors  was  a  Quaker,"  said  one  of  them ; 
"  master  knew  Quakers  were  good  friends  to  our  peo- 
ple, and  he  tried  mighty  hard  to  get  our  rights  for  us; 
but  he  couldn't.  So  now  we  got  to  get  on  best  we  can, 
and  earn  money  to  send  for  them  we  left  behind." 

Provision  was  made  also  in  the  will  for  several  aged  and 
imbecile  ones  on  the  plantation  ;   but  these  the  prudent 
widow  took  good  care  to  send  North  for  the  others  to  sup- 
port. 
Mr.  Dunbar  did  his  business  with  John,  and  departed, 


■  !^*,«.^*i^4Ht.V?*(it, 


«'t »iii»lij|lliM  |^^^flilkl^l^llMMtl0m^ikli^ld^^ 


iMikMlaifMk& 


136 


DUNCAN  DUNB.  B. 


promisi  to  see  what  he  could  do  for  "  our  poor  friends, ' 
as  he  called  them. 

He  at  once  engaged  rooms  in  Hammersley  street  for 
them,  and  interested  many  friends  in  their  behalf ;  but  they 
were  not  in  a  waiting  mood,  and  not  seeing  him  the  next 
day,  the  whole  troop,  escorted  by  John's  little  girl,  appeared 
at  his  house,  filling  the  door-step  and  sidewalk,  —  alarming 
the  astonished  &mily  not  a  little  by  their  entree.  Some 
one  remarked,  much  to  Mr.  Dunbar's  amusement,  that 
^  people  would  surely  think  he  was  holding  a  slave-auction 
on  the  stoop.  He  sent  out  to  a  baker's  for  bread  and 
cake,  and  fed  the  multitude  before  sending  them  away. 
The  ladies  of  the  church  soon  clothed  them,  and  their  hum- 
ble quarters  were  filled,  through  Mr.  Dunbar's  influence, 
with  articles  of  comfort.  Soon  they  were  as  happy  as 
possible,  keeping  house  as  one  large  family.  . 

Several  gentlei^ien  made  an  earnest  but  unsuccessful  ef- 
fort to  secure  the  rights  of  the  poor  creatures ;  but  the 
worthy  Qup.ker  executor  wrote,  assuring  them  tliat  if  a 
suit  should  be  instituted  against  the  estate  for  the  amount 
left  them,  there  could  not  be  found  a  jury  in  Virginia  who 
would  give  a  verdict  in  their  favor.  Here  the  matter  end- 
ed as  far  as  the  poor  outcasts  were  concerned ;  but  who 
can  tell  what  punishment  God  may  ha  >  sent  on  their  op- 
pressors in  those  days  of  reckoning  ?  \v  here  are  thoy,  and 
whei'e  are  their  riches  to-day  f 

Hiiviiif;  come  North  on  the  deck  of  a  tobacco  sloop, 
witlunit  bonnets,  hats,  sha  vis  or  shoes,  great  ninnl)«'rs  of 
the  poor  creatures  took  ctlds,  wiiic!,  ended  in  eonsinnp- 
tion  before  the  winter  was  over.  They  passed  tlir'»n<ili 
sad  sctMios  of  suffering  from  poverty,  sicknes';  and  hi  reave- 
ment ;  but  not  one  of  them  was  ever  heard  to  wish  him- 
self back  with  "  missus  ; ''  they  rejoiced  in  their  lieedoni, 


ij^*;"^'-^''-'  ^'^-'«^l?^*W**»t'*'T  Mf«»*'*''T'-Nfej?*«V?:ji'(f»#iVf'-»^'a;t^uK^jr>y,t^  ,-.^'  ;*, 


THE   BOLLS  SLATES. 


137 


and  all  of  them  proved  sober,  industrious  and  grateiul. 
Poor,  motherly  Aggy,  after  seeing  several  of  her  children 
laid  in  the  grave,  a  sacrifice  to  the  cupidity  that  sent  them 
here  half  clad,  came  to  her  own  death-bed  in  peace.  When 
dying,  she  begged  Mrs.  Dunbar  to  look  after  Sarah,  Ra- 
chel, and  Jack,  which  she  promised  to  do.  A  friend  took 
little  R.  to  Newburgh,  and  kept  her,  till  she  too  fell  a 
victim  to  hasty  consumption.  Sarah  and  Jack  were  taken 
into  Mrs.  Dunbar's  own  kitchen  till  other  places  were 
found  for  them.        .      .     ^  . 

These  poor  cast-offs  were  peaceable  and  well  disposed,  but 
their  mental  training  did  very  little  credit  to  the  Christian 
man  whose  conscience  forced  him  to  give  them  justice  only 
on  his  death-bed.  Very  few  of  them  knew  their  own 
ages,  —  one  woman  telling  Mr.  Dunbar  that  she  was  forty, 
and  tliet  her  mother  was  fifty  years  old  !  One  of  the  poor 
imbeciles,  who  has  outlived  nearly  all  her  friends,  was  cared 
for  by  Mrs.  Dunbar  as  long  as  she  lived.  It  was  her  cus- 
tom to  go  to  her  for  a  warm  breakfast  every  morning,  —  a 
practice  she  was  allowed  to  keep  up  through  Mrs.  Dun- 
bar's last  illness.  One  morning  she  came  in  with  the  usu- 
al earnest  inquiries  for  the  health  of  her  patient,  untiring 
friend ;  a  servant  told  her,  with  tears,  that  she  was  dead ! 
and  then  Meely's  loud,  uncontrollable  waitings  filled  the 
house.  "  Oh !  oh  1 "  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands  in  ago- 
ny, "  I  got  nobody  left  to  take  care  of  me  now !  nobody 
to  say,  *  Hungry,  Meely?'  nobody  to  say,  'Got  warm 
stockings,  Meely  ? '  nobody  to  give  me  warm  shawl  and  a 
new  dress  1  0  Lord,  O  Lord  I  I  lost  my  best  friend,  and 
got  nobody  left  to  say,  '  Poor  Meely  !  '  "  After  piercing 
anew  tlie  heart  of  every  one  in  that  house  of  mourning, 
she  seemed  to  exhaust  her  grief,  and  snddenly  cried  out, 
"  I'll  see  her  again  ;  she's  only  i^jone  up  tl?'^re,  to  my  Fa- 

12  * 


♦  » 


138 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


ther's  kingdom  I  Soon  poor  old  Meely  go  up  there  too,  and 
I'll  see  her.  I  don't  want  to  stay  down  here  now,  when 
all  my  friends  is  in  de  kingdom ;  I  want  to  go  there,  too ! " 
Her  tone  and  manner  were  almost  triumphant,  as  she  raised 
her  thin,  hlack  hands  and  her  tearful  eyes  to  heaven,  ex" 
claiming  again  and  again,  '^  I'm  going  to  my  Father's 
kingdom,  too  I "  and  we  doubt  not  she  will  find  entrance 
there,  when  many  who  knew  their  Master's  will  and  did 
it  not,  will  be  cast  out. 

Poor  John,  whose  generous  heart  was  so  out  of  propor- 
tion with  his  Kmited  accommodations  and  his  small  means, 
little  dreamed  that  his  own  dark  hour  was  so  near  at  hand. 
One  Sabbath  morning,  a  note  was  sent  to  the  several 
Baptist  churches,  from  the  City  Hall  jail,  stating  that  *^  one 

John "  had  been  arrested  by  his  owner,  from  whom 

he  had  escaped  twenty  years  ago,  and  that,  unless  -money 
could  be  raised  to  buy  him,  he  M'ould  be  taken  to  Virginia 
the  next  day.  There  was  some  consultation  between  the 
members  of  these  churches,  and  the  money  was  pledged 
and  John  released.  When  the  poor  Rolls  slaves  had 
come  homeless  to  him,  he  took  them  in  ;  and,  now  that  lie 
was  in  prison,  there  were  not  wanting  Christian  men  to 
go  to  him,  and  by  their  prayers  and  alms  to  save  him  from 
a  return  to  the  dark  prison-house  of  bondage.     >'. 

The  terror  caused  by  his  arrest  and  the  terrible  sus- 
pense of  the  days  which  intervened  betv/een  that  and  his 
release  was  the  ruin  of  his  wife,  a  tall,  fine-looking 
mulatto,  frill  of  life  and  energy.  Her  reason  gave  way 
under  the  blow,  and  when  he  hastened  home  to  surprise 
her  with  the  joyful  news  of  his  deliverance,  she  did  not 
know  him,  but  went  on  frantically  bewailing  his  fate.  In 
a  few  weeks  she  was  so  wasted  that  old  friends  did  not 
know  her  in  the  street ;  —  another  victim  to  slavery. 


^lir 


rn^^j 


i\t.%iy    #  s- 


>  CHAPTER   XVI.  ■v-^.-^^h^iM-m- 


(Ml  and  Rcauml  to  South  Beaton  —  Return  to  New  York — Oompualon  fbr  the  Strick- 
en  — Ohazitj  Ibr  the  Stanring  Irish— Letter  from  Ooolany  — The  Uiadon  of  • 
Wc.  1— Laban  to  make  the  Poor  Independent— The  Old  Ballad-eeller  —  A. 
Street  Acqaaintanoe  — A  Charge  agahut " Blaokwell'a  Island"— His  Gratitude  ~- 
"  Uncle  H."  —  Knowing  the  Heart  of  the  Stranger  —  B«moTal  to  Philadelphia—  to 
Trenton  —  Betum  to  New  Yoric. 

FTEB  laboring  most  earnestly  and  &ithfiilly  with 
the  MoDougol  Street  Church  for  sixteen  years, 
Mr.  Dunbar  received  a  call  &om  the  church 
in  South  Boston.  Circumstances  at  the  time 
caused  him  to  regard  this  as  a  voice  from  God, 
and  we  do  not  believe  that  he  ever  regretted  hia 
decision  in  responding  to  it.  He  resigned  his  charge  in 
New  York  with  the  deepest  feeling ;  and,  followed  by  the 
prayers  of  a  large  majority  of  the  people,  went  to  his  new 
home.     This  was  in  the  winter  of  1844. 

He  and  his  family  were  most  cordially  received  in  South 
Boston.  It  was  not  with  this  church  the  time  of  harvest. 
There  were  difficulties  and  trials  among  them,  which 
iieeded  just  such  wisdom  -and  experience  as  their  new  pas- 
tor brought  with  him.  His  was  not  here,  as  in  most 
other  places,  the  blessed  work  of  gathering  in  the  sheaves ; 
it  was  the  less  pleasing,  but  equally  important  one,  of  pre- 
paring the  soil  for  a  future  harvest.  Much  of  his  labor 
was  that  of  discipline,  in  which  he  had  the  aid  and  the 
wisdom  of  judicious  deacons  and  brethren,  and  by  which 
the  church  was  both  purified  and  strengthened.  In  no 
other  period  of  his  ministry  did  so  long  a  time  ever  pass 
without  an  outpouring  of  God's  Spirit.     But  he  did  not, 

(139) 


140 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


therefore,  regard  his  work  as  unavailing,  faWj  realizing 
that  no  effort  in  God's  vineyard  is  without  its  advantage 
and  its  reward. 

He  remained  in  South  Boston  but  two  years.  The 
McDougal  Street  Church,  being  without  a  pastor,  felt  tliat 
they  needed  his  counsel  and  guidance.  They  recalled 
him,  and  their  deacons  came  on  from  New  York  to  press 
his  acceptance.  His  strong  affection  for  that  people,  and 
a  belief  that  the  hand  of  God  was  in  the  matter,  induced 
him  to  resign  his  charge  that  he  might  return  to  his  old 
field.  He  left  the  church  in  South  Boston  far  more 
united  and  prosperous  than  he  found  them,  well  assured 
of  their  affection  for  him  as  a  pastor  and  their  appreciation 
of  him  as  a  minister  of  Jesus  Christ. 
'  His  interest  in  the  welfare  of  this  people  continued 
through  life,  as  his  many  affectionate  letters  to  those  in 
affliction  there  show.  Here  he  formed  numerous  friend- 
ships which  will  outlive  the  brief  period  of  time,  —  some 
of  which  are  being  now  enjoyed  in  their  fulness  where 
there  is  no  more  death.  :;^  .^e-   .^    .>>.  .  .1^      _.    v 

His  return  to  New  York  was  followed  by  a  blessing. 
God  again  acknowledged  his  labors  there,  and  souls  were 
given  him  as  his  reward.  Again  he  took  up  his  toilsome 
work  among  the  poor,  the  sick  and  the  sorrowful. 
There  were  no  conceivable  cases  of  trial  which  were 
not  brought  before  him,  and  in  no  one  of  them  did  he 
seem  powerless  'o  aid  and  comfort.  The  weakest  and 
most  stricken  of  God's  creatures  found  a  patient,  pitying 
friend  in  Mr.  Dunbar.  Many  will  remember  how  he  con- 
descended to  the  low  estate  of  poor  S.,  the  life-long  pro- 
tdg^  of  Mr.  Seton  ;  how  kindly  he  used  to  listen  to  his 
vague  remarks,  soothe  his  chafed  feelings,  and  encourage 
the  children  to  deal  tenderly  with  him.     Once  when  S. 


COMPASSION  FOB  THE  STRICKEN. 


141 


saw  others  following  Christ,  feeling  that  he,  too,  loved 
him,  be  came  asking  to  be  baptized.  Mr.  Dunbar  felt 
that  thiu  was  not  required  of  him,  and  that  a  judicious  care 
for  thcj  interests  of  the  church  would  not  warrant  it.  So 
he  puJ;  him  off  very  gently,  as  careful  not  to  injure  his 
feelings  aa  if  he  had  been  the  wisest  man  among  them, 
and  thought  he  %7ould  soon  turn  to  some  other  object,  and 
this  be  forgotten.  This,  however,  was  not  the  case  ;  he 
came  again  and  again,  to  be  put  off  each  time  as  gently. 
When,  at  last,  the  poor  fellow's  ire  being  a  little  roused,  he 
threatened  Mr.  Dunbar  that  if  he  did  not  baptize  him 
pretty  soon^  he  would  go  off  and  join  the  Catholics,  Mr.  D. 
(lid  not  smile  at  his  folly,  but  said,  soothingly,  "  You  need 
not  do  that ;  think  about  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  try  to  love 
him  more,  and  you  will  see  him  face  to  face  by  and  by. 
He  will  not  cast  you  off,  because  you  have  not  been  bap- 
tized." Even  when  entering  the  courts  of  the  Lord's  house, 
he  had  a  word  and  a  smile  for  any  "  one  of  these  little 
ones." 

For  those  whose  minds,  through  sickness  or  great  sot- 
ow,  had  been  broken  or  turned  astray,  he  had  the  great- 
est compassion  ;  always  listening  with  mterest  to  their 
imaginary  wrongs,  and  trying  to  turn  their  thoughts  into 
a  more  hopeful  channel.  Many  such,  when  feeling  op- 
pressed and  crushed,  turned  instinctively  to  him  as  a 
helper. 

Once  when  Mr.  Dunbar  went  with  a  party  to  visit  an 
Insane  Asylum,  a  young  man  who  was  walking  the  hall 
in  a  very  hasty  and  excited  manner,  marked  him  from  the 
rest,  and  stepping  up  to  him,  asked,  *'  Sir,  are  you  not  a 
man  of  God  ?  "  On  Mr.  Dunbar  answering  that  he  was 
a  minister,  the  young  man  said  to  him  solemnly,  "  I 
dreamed  last  night  that  X  saw  that  river,  the  streams 


112 


.^i^       DDKCAN  'DUNBAR.  %W^ 


wherec«P  make  glad  the  city  of  our  God  I "  The  words, 
80  plain tivedy  uttered,  and  the  worn,  but  intellectual  coun- 
tenance of  the  stricken  youth,  touched  a  deep  chord  in  that 
loving  heart.  His  party  was  forgotten,  and  Mr.  Dunbar 
stopped  to  comfort  him  to  whom  much  study  had  proved 
a  weariness  of  the  flesh  and  a  disturber  of  the  brain. 

Another  instance  of  his  tenderness  to  this  class  will 
never  be  forgotten  by  the  family.  They  were  aroused  one 
night  by  a  tremendous  knocking.  Mr.  Dimbar  asked  who 
was  there,  and  learned  that  the  stranger  had  just  escaped 
from  a  Lunatic  Asylum,  and  had  come  to  him  for  protec- 
tion. The  night  was  intensely  cold,  and  the  poor,  terri 
fied  man  was  nearly  frozen,  and  very  wild;  and  he 
declared  that  if  Mr.  Dunbar  did  not  come  down  at  once 
he  would  break  in  the  door.  The  ladies  were  much 
alarmed,  and  begged  him  to  rouse  the  neighbors ;  but  he 
said,  "No;  I'll  manage  him,  poor  creature."  He  went 
down  and  took  him  in  to  the  warm  parlor,  soothed  his 
fears  of  pursuit,  and,  instead  of  calling  in  the  police  to 
take  him  away  in  the  cold,  sat  beside  him  all  night,  min- 
istering to  his  diseased  mind.  In  the  morning  he  restored 
him  to  his  family,  who  were  in  great  alarm  about  him. 

One  day,  a  few  years  since,  while  Mr.  Dunbar  was 
boarding,  a  pale,  delicate  lady  called  on  him,  a  stranger 
and  a  physician's  wife,  from  the  West  Her  object  was  to 
induce  him  to  examine  a  manuscript  she  had  ready 
for  the  press  ;  and,  after  many  excuses,  as  being  too  busy 
to  attend  to  such  work,  &c.,  he  found  she  was  not  to  be 
put  off.  So  he  took  her  upstairs  to  his  daughter,  and 
opened  her  papers.  They  were  elegantly  penned ;  but 
the  first  few  sentences  revealed  the  fact  that  the  author's 
mind  was  deranged.  It  was  a  mass  of  incongruous  matter 
on  every  conceivable  subject ;  and  yet,  in  her  present  ap- 


FAMINE  IN  IBELAN^D. 


148 


parently  sensible  mood,  was  all  important  and  reasonable 
to  her,  and  she  was  very  anxious  to  give  it  to  the  world. 

Her  gentle  manner  and  feeble  appearance  greatly  touched 
Mr.  Dunbar's  kind  heart,  and  he  gave  her  the  hours  in 
which  he  should  have  been  resting,  rather  than  repulse 
her.  In  the  course  of  conversat'.on  she  alluded  to  having 
been  placed,  for  some  inconceivable  reason,  in  a  Lunatic 
Asylum,  —  from  which  she  had,  no  doubt,  escaped  un- 
known to  her  guardians.  Evening  came,  but  she  made  no 
movement  to  go,  and,  indeed,  did  not  know  the  way,  in 
the  darkness,  to  her  friends'  home  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
city.  Mr.  Dunbar  interested  his  landlady  in  her,  who 
kindly  cared  for  her  and  kept  her  till  morning.  When 
she  left,  there  was  found  on  her  table  a  beautifully  touch- 
ing note,  thanking  him  for  his  forbearance  and  kindness ; 
and,  doubtless,  the  poor,  stricken  stranger  bore,  wherever 
she  went,  the  memory  of  this  to  cheer  her  gloom. 

He  believed  that  the  true  way  to  deal  with  such 
sufferers  was  to  humor  their  fancies,  and  the  above  in- 
cidents illustrate  the  wisdom  which  guided  his  sympathies. 


When  the  hearts  of  the  American  people  were  just 
beginning  to  be  touched  by  accounts  of  the  famine  in  Ire- 
land, in  the  year  1847,  Mr.  Dunbar  received  a  most  touch- 
ing appeal  from  a  student  of  the  late  Rev.  Dr.  Carson,  in 
behalf  of  his  starving  brethren  in  Coolany,  Sligo  County. 
Scenes  the  most  heart-rending  were  described,  in  which 
the  aged  and  infirm,  and  little  children,  who  could  neither 
work  nor  flee  to  more  favored  parts,  were  dying  of  want. 
Mr.  Dunbar  was  a  stranger  to  them ;  but  some  one  in  the 
little  church  had  heard  of  his  name  and  character,  and 
thus  sent,  begging  him,  for  Christ's  sake,  to  procure  them 
relief. 


144 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


Then  doubtless  came  up  before  his  mind  the  horrors  of 
that  six  months  on  the  **  HaUfax  Packet,"  when  the  little 
ones  cried  in  vain  for  bread.  Pity  was  a  spring  for  action, 
and  not  an  hour  elapsed  between  the  postman's  ring  with 
the  letter  and  his  first  effort  for  these  brethren  of  Christ. 
He  went  from  one  personal  friend  to  another  and  read  the 
letter ;  and  by  the  next  steamer,  which  sailed  a  day  of  two 
after,  he  forwarded  $150,  —  the  first  assistance  that  left 
our  shores  for  those  sufferers.  While  other  churches  and 
charitable  organizations  were  discussing  plans  and  propos- 
ing collections,  the  offering  of  McDougal  Street  was  cross 
ing  the  sea.  liOng  before  the  applicants  looked  for  an  an- 
swer, aid  reached  them.  Their  pastor,  whose  house  was 
the  resort  of  all  in  distress,  wrote  that  a  "  dear  brother  M., 
a  schoolmaster,  had  just  been  to  him,  in  great  anguish, 
saying  that  his  children  were  dying  for  want  of  bread." 
They  prayed  together,  and  the  pastor  tried  to  comfort  the 
distressed  man  by  telling  him  that  help  would  soon  come 
from  their  transatlantic  friends.  He  went  away,  saying, 
"  We  shall  surely  die  I  "     ~ 

Scarcely  had  he  gone,  when  the  postman  brought  an 
American  letter,  with  the  bill  of  exchange  for  £  31.  1«.  M. 
The  pastor  laid  it  down  on  a  chair,  fell  before  it,  and  gave 
thanks  to  Him  who  had  remembered  their  sorrows,  and 
then  flew  to  the  agonized  father,  whose  last  words  to  him 
had  been,  "  We  shall  surely  die !"  In  his  own  words,  he 
cried  out  as  he  entered  the  house,  letter  in  hand,  "  Dear 
Brother  M.,  don't  die  any  more  I  Here's  help  from  dear 
Brother  Dunbar  I " 

*'  In  a  long   and   touchingly  beautiful   letter   from   the 
church  at  Coolany,  is  the  following  passage :  — 

"  Dear  anu  Reverend  Sir,  —  No  language  can  express 
our  gratitude  to  you,  and  the  generous,  affectionate  people 


LETTEB  FBOM  COOLANY. 


145 


iway,  saymg, 


under  your  pastoral  care,  for  the  aid  administered  to  us  in 
tliis  the  time  of  our  affliction  and  calamity  I  It  reached 
us  just  as  we  were  sinking  under  famine,  starvation  and 
despair ;  hut  not  until  one  of  our  most  heloved,  intelligent, 
and  useful  hrethren  had  sunk  in  his  sufferings,  to  rise  no 
more  in  this  life.  v!'i;*vf».^« 

*>  We  are  thankful  for  the  names  of  our  kind  benefactors  ; 
—  they  shall  never  be  forgotten  by  us  at  the  throne  of 
grace,  until  we  meet  them  on  that  happy  shore  where 
these  temporal  trials  shall  be  over. 

"  To  give  you  any  adequate  description  of  our  desolate 
country  is  impossible.  A  gracious  Providence  seems  to 
frown  upon  us.  Our  cocks  have  ceased  to  crow,  our  doc« 
have  ceased  to  bark.  Our  strong  and  athletic  men  ave 
drooping,  and  wandering  along  our  hedges.  Our  once 
fruitful  fields  are  row  waste  and  fallow.  Famine  and 
starvation  are  moving  on  apace.  Disease  and  mortality 
are  hourly  increasing,  and  our  numerous  population  de- 
clining, not  by  hundreds,  but  by  thousands,  throughout 
our  ill-fated  land. 

" The   humble   individual  who  pens  these 

lines  is  one  of  those  who  have  shared  your  bounty ;  and 
he  firmly  believes  that  it  was  the  means  of  sa^  ivg  his  life 
and  that  of  his  family.  And  now,  he  and  a  iiew  of  the 
brethren  who  sit  around  him  meet  for  this  purpose,  to 
assure  you  that  you  have  secured  the  gratitude  of  their 
liearts,  and  that  their  souls'  petition  shall  ever  ascend  to 
the  throne  of  grace  in  your  behalf."  ■       '    -* ' 

Signed  by  John  Monahan  and  four  brethren. 

This  was  but  the  beginning  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  work  for 
Ireland.  The  money  he  forwarded  after  this  was  always 
distributed,  by  his  request,  "  without  rogard  to  sect,  creed, 
or  party." 

18 


'&■:  I 


146 


DUNCAK  DUNBAB. 


;  In  other  localities  also,  where  was  sufieriiig  from  like 
cause,  he  lelt  the  same  interest ;  and  there  are  yet  living 
many  who  will  remember  his  efforts  for  the  Cape  de  Verd 
Islands,  when  visited  by  a  terrible  famine.  So  fervent 
were  his  appeah  in  public,  that,  on  one  occasion,  he  hav- 
ing led  the  way,  by  giving  freely,  jewels  were  laid  on 
the  plate  by  those  who  had  not  all  the  money  they  desired 
to  give.  His  friend  Rev.  Mr.  H.  being  in  the  pulpit  with 
him,  and  his  feelings  going  beyond  his  means,  rose, 
drew  out  his  watch,  and  leaned  over  to  cast  it  in  among  the 
offerings.  But  Mr.  D.,  who  knew  his  circumstances,  qui- 
etly  took  it  out  of  his  hand.  He  never  expected  others 
to  make  the  severe  sacrifices  that  he  himself  did. 
.    To  a  person  in  straitened  c"  2umstances,  he  wrote:  — 


(i 


I  &m  pushed  for  time,  and  write  only  to  say,  God  bless 
you  all  I  Tell  your  wife  to  roll  up  this  little  picture  (a 
ten-dollar  bill),  and  transform  it  into  a  barrel  of  flour,  or 
chew  it  son?e  other  way,  to  shut,  for  an  hour  or  two,  the 
mouth  of  old  unbelief." 


his 


eyes   open 


Mr.  Dunbar  walked  the   streets  with 
to  the  interests  of  the  strangers  he  met. 

One  day  he  went  to  pray  with  a  person  who  was  dying, 
his  path  being  along  the  river.  On  his  way,  his  eye  met 
that  of  a  young  man  who  was  standing  listlessly  by  one  of 
the  wharves.  That  was  nothing  strange  in  a  city,  where 
crowds  jostle  each  other  and  pass,  never  to  meet  again. 
He  noticed  thti  face,  —  that  was  all,  —  and  then  went  on, 
performed  his  mission  in  the  sick-rcom,  and  returned  to 
his  home. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  days,  lie  again  turned  his  ste|)(> 
up  town,  to  inquire  if  still  the  sufferc?r  lingered  on  the 
shores  of  time.     Again  he  encountered  the  .^ame  young 


A  STREET  ACQUAINTANCE. 


14T 


man  in  the  same  spot.  He  looked  at  him  earnestly,  won- 
dering whether  mere  idleness,  or  what  other  motive,  /-onlu 
induce  him  to  plant  himself  there  at  an  honr  when  all 
actiye  men  were  astir  either  for  pleasure  or  business.  He 
was  minded  to  speak  to  the  stranger,  but  lacked  an  ex- 
cuse ;  so  he  passed  him,  turning  back,  however,  to  take 
another  look  at  the  erect  form  and  fair  young  face.  He 
carried  the  stranger's  glance  home  in  his  heart ;  and  after- 
ward, when  all  save  him  were  sleeping,  while  he  walked 
the  floor  of  that  study,  hallowed  by  prevailing  prayers  and 
unselfish  tears,  it  rose  up  pleadingly  before  him.  "  Who 
is  he  ?  What  could  his  errand  be  there  ?  Could  I  have 
helped  him  ?  "  —  were  the  questions  he  asked  himself;  and 
then  he  regretted  that  he  had  passed  by  on  the  other  side, 
and  thus  perhaps  lost  an  opportunity  of  blessing  one  who 
needed  a  friend. 

When  next  time  the  comforter  sought  the  scene  of  suf- 
fering, what  was  his  surprise  to  see  the  young  man  in  the 
same  place  for  the  third  time !  Then  he  felt  that  God  had 
sent  him  this  way,  and  stepping  up  to  him,  said,  pleasantly, 
"  My  young  friend,  it  is  an  unusual  thing  for  two  persons 
in  this  great  city  to  meet  as  you  and  I  have  done  three 
times  in  the  same  spot.  I  will  tell  you  what  has  led  me 
here,  and  then,  if  you  have  no  objection,  I  should  like  to 
know  yfhyyou  stand  thus  so  often,  while  all  around  you  are 
hurrying  to  and  fro  ?  I  am  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and 
have  been  on  my  way,  the  times  we  have  met,  to  pray  with 
a  dying  woman  in street.     What  were  you  doing  ?  " 

The  youtli  dropped  his  head,  and  tears  filled  his  eyes, 
as  he  said,  "  Oh,  sir,  my  errand  was  a  veiy  different  one 
from  yours.  I  am  friendless,  save  for  one  sister,  —  a  widow, 
with  tliroe  little  children,  —  whom  I  ought  to  provide  for. 
But  I  have  been  ont  of  employment  for  months,  and,  al- 


148 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


though  I  have  left  no  stone  unturned,  can  find  nothing 
to  do  by  which  I  can  earn  even  my  own  bread.  My  poor 
sister  is  wearing  her  life  away  at  her  needle,  cheerfully 
sharing  what  she  earns  with  me.  But  I  can  eat  the  bread 
of  dependence  no  longer.  I  am  desperate,  and  three  times 
have  come  to  this  wharf  to  end  my  days  by  drowning  • 
Something  each  time  has  held  me  back ;  but  to-day  I  must 
end  a  life  I  cannot  prolong  without  cruel  injustice  to  a 
feeble  woman,  very  dear  to  me,  and  already  crushed  be- 
neath burdens  too  heavy  for  her  to  bear."  A  wild  light 
gleamed  in  his  eye,  as  he  added,  **  I  nmst  do  it." 

"  No,  my  son,"  said  the  man  of  God,  laying  his  hand 
tenderly  on  the  young  man's  shoulder,  "  you  must  do  no 
such  thing.  God  is  not  done  with  you  yet.  Go  home 
with  me,  and  I  will  supply  your  wants  until  I  procure 
employment  for  you  ;  and  then  you  can  repay  that  dear 
sister,  and  perhaps  provide  for  her  fatherless  little  ones." 
=ii  And  he  drew  him  away  from  the  scene  3t  iemptation, 
and  took  him  to  that  home  which  had  been  to  so  many 
afflicted  and  disheartened  ones  a  "  door  of  hope."  By 
the  influence  of  his  new  friend,  who  had  almost  mag- 
netic power  over  others,  the  tempted  youth  soon  found 
employment  at  his  own  business  ;  and  thus,  by  that  word 
in  the  street,  was  saved  to  his  friends,  and  spared  the  guilt 
of  suicide.*  ,....    ,  •  ,^   . 

In  no  way  was  Mr.  Dunbar's  usefulness  more  promoted 
than  by  this  habit  of  speaking  to  strangers.  **■  The  cause 
he  knew  not,  he  sought  out." 

A  few  years  ago,  he  noticed  a  delicate,  dejected-looking 
lady  in  his  congregation,  and  made  an  effort  at  the  close 
of  a  service  to  speak  to  her.     She  was  a  member  of  a  Bap* 


♦  Written  for  "  The  MacedonJan." 


i 


THE   FORSAKEN   ONE. 


149 


tist  church  in  another  city,  and  had  come  to  New  York  to 
reside.  She  was  asked  to  his  house,  and  Mrs.  Dunbar, 
being  touched  with  her  lonely  and  melancholy  state,  be- 
came much  interested  in  her.  Ere  long,  the  stranger  con- 
fided to  her  her  sad  history.  ^  -»*'^    •«   ^"'».   , .  .^.  . 

She  was  an  orphan,  with  a  little  property,  and  had, 
from  her  earliest  girlhood,  been  engaged  to  a  young  man 
of  much  promise  in  the  church  to  which  she  belonged.  He 
had  commenced  a  course  of  study  for  the  ministry,  and,  as 
his  prospects  of  success  were  most  flattering,  of  course  the 
future  was  very  bright  before  her.  Thus,  through  long 
years  of  patient  waiting,  her  happiness  was  closely  woven 
with  his  progress.  But,  in  an  evil  hour,  ambition,  or  some 
other  device  of  the  Evil  One,  tempted  him  to  believe  that 
another  than  she  was  more  suited  to  his  growing  taste  ; 
and  he  forsook  the  poor,  faithful  heart  that  from  childhood 
had  trusted  in  him.  He  finished  his  studies,  and  married, 
and  settled,  as  a  minister  of  Jesus  Christy  in  the  very  city, 
we  believe,  where  she  lived.  This  crushing  of  her  life's 
hope  was  her  death,  —  slow,  but  certain.  Home,  where 
this  was  ever  before  her  mind,  was  the  last  place  she  wished 
to  be  in.  She  became  restless  and  uneasy,  and  at  length 
left  her  home,  unknown  to  the  kind  brother  with  whom 
she  lived,  and  was  now  trying  to  earn  her  bread  by  her 
needle,  the  privacy  of  her  departure  preventing  any  [dovis- 
ion  being  made  for  her  among  strangers.  Mr.  Dunbar 
wrote  to  a  minister  in  that  city,  and  learned  that  her  pain- 
ful story  was  but  too  true.  All  efforts  to  induce  her  to 
return,  or  even  to  report  herself  to  her  friends,  were  un- 
availing ;  she  desired  only  to  hide  her  sorrows  among 
strangers.  Mrs.  Dunbar  employed  her  herself,  and  intro- 
duced her  to  others  ;  but  her  spirit  was  broken.  Every- 
thing that  kindness  and  sympathy  could  do  for  her  waa 
13  • 


160 


DUNCAN    DUNBAR. 


done  in  the  few  months  that  she  came  and  went  there , 
but  "  a  wounded  spirit  who  can  bear  ?  "     -  ■«. 

One  day,  a  strange  person,  at  whose  house  Miss  W. 
lived,  called  to  tell  Mi's.  Dunbar  that  she  was  ill.  She 
visited  her  at  once,  but  found  her  insensible.  Every 
attention,  with  medical  advice,  \ras  provided,  but  in 
vain.  God  was  merciiuUy  drawing  her  troubled  life  to  a 
close. 

There  was  little  display  at  that  poor  girl's  funeral.  A 
tew  strangers,  a  prayer,  a  hearse,  —  but  no  mourners. 
One  carriage,  in  which  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dunbar  and 
the  kind  friend  who  so  often  accompanied  the  latter  on 
errands  of  mercy,  followed  the  remains  to  Greenwood. 
And  thus  ended  a  tragedy  for  which  human  law  has  no 
penalty.     ""■•  ■.•..,_..  .,.t^.,s;:    •*^^/i  w;,i( . 

Mr.  Dunbar's  sense  of  honor  and  justice  revolted  at  the 
course  of  the  man  who  had  wrought  this  ruin  ;  and  yet  so 
great  were  his  forbearance  and  pity,  that,  when  asked  his 
nnme  by  the  writer  of  this  sketch,  he  replied,  "Never 
mind,  —  he  will  suffer  enough  punishment  when  he  hears 
of  her  death,  without  my  giving  publicity  t .  his  sin.  We 
iare  all  sinners,  and  if  God  has  forgiven  him,  and  is  allow- 
ing him  to  work  for  him,  I  shall  not  interfere."  •*"> 
*  While  he  was  ever  free  in  giving^  he  was  fully  impressed 
with  the  importance  of  encouraging  the  poor  to  become, 
by  industry  and  patience,  independent.  When  men  of 
spirit  came  to  him,  depressed  because  they  could  find  no 
*imployment,  he  made  it  his  own  business  to  aid  them  in 
the  search  for  it.  Hundreds,  we  doubt  not,  ai'e  living  to- 
day in  ease,  and  many  in  afhuence,  who  sought  him,  heart- 
sick from  iiope  deferred,  and  crushed  by  the  cold,  rough 
answers  they  met  in  looking  for  work.  While  his  kiiul 
word  cheered  them,  ai»d  his  delicate  "  loan  "  kept  them 


LOVE  TO  THE  POOR. 


liU 


alive  in  tlic  mean  time,  his  active  efforts  and  wide  influ- 
ence put  them  in  the  road  to  competency  or  wealth. 
Bums  says :  — 


'  See  yonder  poor,  o'erlabored  wight, 

So  abject,  mean,  and  vile, 
Who  begs  a  brother  of  the  earth 

To  give  him  leave  to  toil ; 
And  see  his  lordly  feUouMoorm 
The  poor  petition  spurn ! " 


i'.';t^(  ;?f  ^-.f 


•i;r* 


We  doubt  if  ever  an  honest,  sober  man,  seeking  his  in- 
fluence to  get  employment,  was  turned  coldly  away.  So 
far  did  he  carry  this,  that  his  study,  in  times  of  depres- 
sion, often  looked  like  an  intelligence  ofHce  for  an  hour 
afler  breakfast. 

"  His  love  to  the  poor,"  says  Rev.  Mr.  Paulin,  '*  was  with- 
out bounds.  He  would  subject  himself  to  any  amount  of  ex- 
ertion to  procure  employment  for  the  healthy,  and  charity 
for  the  aged  and  the  sick.  Well  do  I  remember  his 
hearing,  one  night,  of  a  poor  widow  suffering  with  her 
little  ones  in  a  comfortless  basement.  Having  no  one  to 
send  by  night,  he  went  himself,  carrying  a  large  basket  of 
provisions.  But  when  he  reached  the  wretched  Iwde, 
there  was  neither  ligh<  uor  fire.  He  at  once  sent  out  and 
bought  candles,  had  chips  and  shavings  brought  from  a 
caipenter's  shop,  and  saw  thr  feeble  mother  preparing  tlie 
first  warm  meal  her  children  ht  -  ..iiten  in  two  days.  Hav- 
ing made  them  as  comfortable  as  he  could  '-h'  the  time 
boing,  he  wont  f.l.ence  to  his  evening  meeting,  there  to 
rouse  the  never-failing  sympathies  of  the  sisters  of  McDou- 
gal  Street  on  her  behalf.  After  that  the  widow's  family 
were  well  cared  for  as  long  as  they  needed  aid. 

"  I  have  known  many  young  men,  strangers  in  the  city 


152 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


■vl*  1- 


,   ^     iff  i| 


to  go  to  him  with  letters  of  introduction  from  miiiisteK  a?)*J 
others  who  knew  his  noble  heart.  These  w<  re  n,.v<!illy  in 
search  of  situations,  and  often  bore  the  sad  traces  only  of 
their  better  days  ;  so  that  the^'r  persoi  rtl  appearance  v,as 
almoit  a  barrier  to  success.  Often  has  L,  takeis  such  to  a 
tailor  and  provided  them  with  .  complete  outfit,  with 
the  understanding  that  they  should  settle  the  bid  whcu 
able  to  do  so,  he  becominj;  responsible  for  it.  But  too 
often  hp  was  left  to  pay  it  himself;  an<^  the  worst  I  e>  i- 
tiiaid  Imn  s^aj  in  such  cases,  was,  *  Alas,  iilas,  ilvr  poor 
human  luiture  ' ' 

••One  livtie  incident  occurred  when  I  was  a  young  pro- 
fessor, whirh  iiiade  in  abiding  impression  on  my  mind.  I 
"went  with  him  to  Nassau  street,  to  attend  a  meeting  com- 
posed mostly  of  ministers.  Many  were  already  there ;  but 
bef  )ce  the  opening  of  tha  meeting,  a  poor-looking  man 
came  in,  selling  ballads.  He  began  at  the  door,  offering 
them  to  all  as  he  passed  round  the  room.  Some  reproved 
him  for  selling  such  foolish  things,  and  others  looked  stern- 
ly at  him,  as  if  they,  too,  thought  he  might  better  be  at 
work;  and,  I  confess,  that  was  my  own  opinion.  Mr. 
Dunbar  sat  very  near  the  door,  and  the  man,  as  he  was 
going  out,  urged  him  to  bviy  one  of  his  songs.  He  looked 
up  in  th«^  poor  creature's  face  with  a  smile,  entered  into 
conversation  with  him,  and  found  that  he  was  a  stranger, 
who  could  find  no  work,  and  was  penniless.  He  had  taken 
his  last  shilling  and  bought  these  ballads,  hoping  thus  to 
make  enough  to  buy  his  bread  for  one  day  ?^  ^east.  Mr. 
Dunbar  then  said,  '  Well,  my  poor  friend,  I  -  !  ;ii  buy  all 
your  stock,  foi*  I  admire  the  spirit  that  is  w  ,  even  in 

chis  poor  »vay,  nirn  rather  than  beg.  "^^^  . '  he  addetl, 
'  I  am  a  minis<  ■  *  the  gospel,  and  so  r-"  nl).  these  men. 
We  don't  sing  such  songs  as  these,  —  tlie ,     "^  of  no  use  to 


^^ 


BALLAD-SELLEB. 


153 


US.     But  they  are  harmless  things  ;  you  may  take  them  all 
again,  and  sell  them  to  others,  and  thus  double  your  capi 
tal,  and  I  hope  you  will  soon  get  better  employment.' 

"Tears  flowed  down  the  poor  man's  cheeks,  giving 
eloquent  expression  to  the  gratitude  of  his  heart,  and,  as 
he  closed  the  door,  I  heard  him  say,  '  God  Almighty  bless 
you,  sir.'  I  could  not  but  draw  a  contrast  in  my  own 
mind  between  the  indifference  of  others  and  his  ready 
sympathy  ;  and  I  well  knew  which  would  have  the  most 
salutary  effect  on  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  poor  ballad- 
vender. 

"  More  than  once  I  have  carried  money  to  landlords  to 
pay  the  rent  of  poor  widows,  for  which  Mr.  Dunbar  had 
become  responsible,  and  which  he  then  had  to  meet  un- 
known to  any  but  himself  and  his  messenger." 


Mr.  Dunbar  once  met  a  tall,  fine-looking,  but  overgrown, 
or  rather,  as  the  garments  would  suggest,  outgrown  youth, 
carrying  a  bundle  tied  in  a  red  silk  pocket-handkerchief. 
As  he  passec'  him,  he  heard  a  most  inhuman  noise,  which 
seemed  to  issue  from  the  bundle.  Looking  round,  he 
caught  the  eye  of  the  boy,  and  asked,  *'  What  have  you 
tl.exe  that  makes  such  souitds,  my  son  ?  "     .  >  4«  *  ::-m\-'.\v 

"  A  chicken,  sii,"  he  replied,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 
"  I've  a  sick  mother  at  home,  and  I've  been  to  the 
market  for  this  to  mp.ke  broth  for  her."       ■        vf     lu* 

Although  the  ])o/  said  this  with  ?.  strong  Irish  accent, 
Ml.  D«',  ftr  iTow  l.y  his  appearance  and  address  that  he 
w»»       youth  of  no  c.jmmon  abihty.     So  he  asked  him:  — 
*  From  what  part  of  Trepan  ^  are  you  ?  *  ^ 

'•*  The  north,  sir,  and  I'm  a  Protestani."  -*-•  ''*»• 

"  And  wnat  do  you  do  for  a  living  ?  " 

"  Nothing  siiice  I  came  here,  sir  ;  for  I  can  get  nothing 


mi/** '  •"dSal'I'^i'.X  % 


154 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


to  do;  SO  I  help  my  mother  while  my  father's  at  hk 
work."  ^ 

"  But  what  could  you  do  if  employment  could  be 
found  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  was  fitting  to  be  a  clerk,  at  home,  and  I 
can  write  the  hand  of  a  gentleman  ;  but  indeed,  air,  I'll  do 
anything  that's  honest  for  my  bread,  be  it  what  it  may." 

"  Well,  my  son,"  replied  Mr.  Dunbar,  "  lun  home 
with  the  chicken  and  make  your  mother's  broth.  Come 
to  me  to-morrow  morning  after  breakfast,  and  show  me  your 
hand-writing.  I  will  see  wliat  can  be  done  for  a  lad  who 
is  willing  to  do  anything  that's  <«onest."  , /i,/  ^ 

The  boy  and  the  chicken  moved  oiF  with  improved 
speed,  and  next  morning  the  former  came  and  proved  the 
excellence  of  his  penmanship.  Mr.  Dunbar  at  once  vis- 
ited his  home,  and  found  the  mother  the  victim  of  a  worse 
tyrant  than  either  poverty  or  sickness,  while  the  father 
and  son  were  struggling  to  keep  the  home  neat  and  the 
little  ones  comfortable.  So  he  took  the  ambitious  youth 
under  his  patronage,  and  soon  procured  for  him  a  good 
place  in  a  store.  He  conducted  himself  in  such  a  way 
as  gained  the  confidence  of  his  employers,  and  soon  made 
himself  a  necessity  in  the  establishment.  Years  after  this 
a  share  was  given  him  in  the  business.  He  was  ever 
honorable  and  upiight,  as  well  as  dutiful  and  attentive  to 
his  poor  parents.  He  afterwards  married  very  respectably, 
was  engaged  in  a  large  and  profitabl<^  business...  .^v,. 


Mr.  Dunbar's  compassion  was  boundless  toward  those 
who  were  their  own  worst  foes.  When  warned  not  to  help 
any  one  of  this  class,  because  he  was  thriftless  or  intem- 
perate, he  would  some f  lies  reply,  "  The  more  need  of  ■^  e- 
body  looking  after  him  —  poor  fellow  !     He  must  eai^  H.<i 


,.-,^li^~7jiif 


BLACKWELL  S   ISLAND. 


155 


drink  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  if  we  can  f?  id  work  for  him, 
that  may  prevent  his  stealing ;  and  if  he  rises  ahove  tins, 
who  can  tell  but  God  will  bring  him  to  his  right  mind  and 
make  a  man  of  him  yet  ?  God  bears  a  great  deal  with  us, 
and  we  must  bear  with  those  whose  circumstances  have 
been  less  favored." 

Such  people  fully  understood  him  and  made  good  use 
of  his  sympathies.  We  find  a  well-written  and  most 
amusing  letter  from  an  old  man,  whom  we  judge  Mr. 
Dunbar  and  the  other  gentleman  therein  alluded  to  had 
assisted.  He  had  come  firom  England,  and  had  neither 
friends,  nor  money,  nor  work.  After  having  been  helped 
not  a  little  by  the  McDougal  Street  people,  he  had,  it 
seems,  one  night,  asked  a  policeman  to  show  him  to  lodgings. 
The  policeman  sent  him,  probably  for  good  reasons,  to  Black- 
well's  Island,  where  this  letter  was  dated.  In  the  morning., 
when  preparing  to  return  to  the  cit^  ,  he  was  informed 
that  he  had  been  committed  for  six  months  as  a  vagrant. 
He  writes  Mr.  Dunbar,  afterward,  that  be  is  treated  kindly, 
and  allowed  to  act  in  some  humble  capacity  under  an  assist- 
ant warden  ;  but  then  he  brings  a  bitter  complaint :  ''  I  have 
now  been  here  a  month,  and  if  you  believe  me,  reverend 
sir,  I  have  not  seen,  in  all  that  time,  a  pint  of  beer,  ale,  or 
any  other  malt  liquor  I  Now,  sir,  if  yourself,  and  Mr. 
Stewart  and  Mr.  Seton  would  be  kind  enough  to  sen*) 
me  up  a  little  money,  that  I  may  get  a  few  little  necessarieiy 
you  will  greatly  oblige,  your  humble  servant,  J.  M."       ^ 

Mr.  D.  always  acknow^^dged  and,  if  possible,  repaid 
the  least  act  of  kindness.  ;      i  .■  ^  .^s^yi^.^i 

Miss  G^  lus,  daughter  of  t:  e  Lf^ir(l  of  Aurhftrnic  writes 
to  Miss  Du  bar  ;  "  When  your  father  paid  his  |irst  visit  tc 
Scotland  J  about  thirty  years  ago.  he  spoke  much  to  ppi^^fm 


156 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


the  eldest  of  our  family,  and  the  one  h  -  best  remembeiod, 
of  his  obligation :  '/.  ."r  iluher,  for  kindness  shown  liim 
when  a  boy,  M\(i  beg^^ea  of  nie  to  give  him  some  oppor- 
tunity of  returning  it,  if  ever  I  wished  to  befriend  any 
lad.  This  was  the  cause  of  L.  G.  being  sent  out  tv;  him, 
an  almost  orphan  and  friendless  youth.  You  know  how 
much  he  did  for  him,  fully  re' Vn: ;  i^  dts  pr  miso  to  us.  I 
could  tell  you  much  of  his  interest  in  the  Free  Church 
movement  in  this  country,  and  how  he  set  about  finding 
out  w-^ys  to  help  us  in  our  hour  of  need,  and  how  much  we 
of  the  Free  Church  in  Forres  owed  him  for  assistance. 
My  aunt,  the  Dowager  Lady  McGregor,  who  used  to  be 
much  with  us  in  Aucharnic,  when  a  young  lady,  says 
she  remembers  your  father  well  as  a  little  boy.  She  is 
much  interested  in  your  account  of  his  last  days.  She 
begs  to  offer  her  kind  sympathy  with  mine."       ^.'  i.  -     .  i- 

Mr.  Dunbar's  eldest  daughter  gives  us  the  following 
incident: —       ■^> -*wi  .::■■;.,■.:.:  f^f-u.^iv-i'^     .:y>t-^-5''..  u..^^-'. 

"  Not  long  after  our  removal  to  New  York,  an  old  man 
presented  himself  at  the  house,  who  had  been  one  of  our 
father's  wealthiest  and  mosr.  influential  friends  when  he 
first  came  to  America.  When  about  to  return  to  Scotland 
for  his  family,  this  man,  althougii  not  a  professor  of  religion, 
gave  him  sixteen  doubloons,  saying,  '  It  takes  a  great  deal 
of  money  to  bring  a  family  comfortably  across  the  ocean.' 
is.-  **  Long  years  had  passed.  His  wife  was  now  dead^  his 
property  gone,  his  children  scattered.  He  said  he  had  a 
model  of  a  machine,  of  his  o  .  invention,  for  breaking  ice, 
to  make  passage  for  boat^.  .nd  wished  to  know  if  Mr. 
Duiibar's  house  might  be  his  home  while  he  presented  it 
ibr  the  inspection  of  scientific  men  in  New  York. 

"  *  By  all  means,  by  all  means,'  was  the  reply ;  and 
*  Uncle  M.,'  as  we  little  ones  were  taught  to  call  him, 


"UNCLE  M. 


»» 


157 


became  our  winter's  guest.  The  machine  proved  to  be 
in  its  most  incipient  state  in  the  poor  old  man's  brain  ; 
and  he  had  neither  money  to  support  himself,  nor  yet  to 
construct  his  model.  Indeed,  his  mind  was  so  shattered, 
that  it  was  unable  to  bring  any  idea  to  perfection.  All 
through  that  long,  cold  winter,  he  had  the  warmest  seat 
at  the  fire,  and  the  best  at  the  table.  There  he  would  sit 
all  day,  talking  about  his  invention  to  father,  mother,  or  any 
of  us  children.  If  no  one  would  stop  to  listen,  he  would 
talk  to  himself,  explaining  it  over  and  over  agai^.  If  ever 
we  were  too  noisy,  and  annoyed  him,  father  would  say, 
'  0  children  dear !  Uncle  M.  has  seen  better  days.  He 
has  probably  been  richer  than  any  of  you  will  ever  be. 
And  do  you  not  know  that  he  gave  me  sixteen  doubloons 
when  I  went  across  the  ocean,  to  bring  you  to  America  ? 
We  must  now  return  this  an  hundred  fold,  —  in  kindness 
tnd  attention,  if  we  cannot  in  money.  You  know  God's 
book  says,  "  Blessed  is  he  that  remembereth  the  poor ;  the 
Lord  will  remember  him  in  time  of  trouble."  '  And  he 
1  ally  made  us  children  believe  that  it  was  the  greatest 
lionor  and  privilege  in  the  world  to  have  that  demented 
old  man  sitting  by  the  fire,  talking  to  himself;  for  he 
would  stay  nowhere  else  but  beside  our  patient  mother, 
amid  her  nursery  cares.       ''■       ••*<'•   • '^'-  ■•'■■-''    ■■■■■       '^*' 

As  "  Uncle  M."  used  to  go  about,  talking  to  every  one 
who  would  Usten,  of  his  ice-breaker,  it  may  be,  that  some 
younger  and  stronger  mind  took  up  his  idea,  and  carried 
it  out  to  perfection. 

The  sons  of  this  poor  man  were  neither  unkind  nor 
neglectful,  but  had  done  all  they  could  to  keep  him  at 
home.  He  had,  however,  become  a  monomaniac,  in  the 
vain  eflPort  to  regain  his  lost  property  ;  and  all  the  money 
tliey  gave  him  was  wasted  in  castings,  &c.,  for  machines 
n 


158 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


which  were  never  to  see  the  light.  So,  when  they  could 
no  longer  spare  money  for  his  visionary  schemes,  he  left 
them,  and  went  to  New  York  ;  and  they  knew  nothing  of 
him  until  they  heard  through  Mr.  Dunbar.  They  then 
came  or  sent  lor  him,  and  did  all  in  their  power  to  make 
him  comfortable ;  but  their  efforts  to  keep  him  at  home 
proved  unavaihng.  We  mention  this  lest  any,  knowing 
of  the  case,  might  censure  the  family  unjustly. 

'*  I  was  at  home  on  a  visit,  a  few  years  since,"  writes 
Mr.  Dunbar's  eldest  daughter,  "  when  my  father  urged 
me  to  call  with  him  on  a  physician  and  his  family,  who 
had  recently  brought  letters  of  introduction  to  him.  We 
had  not  gone  ftir,  when  he  said  to  me,  '  Look  at  that  poor 
man  and  woman,  with  a  child,  across  the  street.  By  the 
way  they  are  looking  at  the  houses  and  numbers,  I 
think  they  are  strangers,  — poor  things  I' 
'  "  *  It  is  very  evident,'  I  replied,  '  by  the  long  tartan 
cloak  of  the  woman,  and  the  tartan  pants  of  the  man,  that 
they  are  strangers ;  but  the  city  is  full  of  strangers.  Let 
us  hasten  ;  for  you  promised  to  be  at  home  very  soon.' 
(i;  (( t  ^],^'  sai(i  ijg^  t  my  dear,  I  know  the  heart  of  a  stran- 
ger I  Let  us  cross  over,  and  just  speak  to  them.  It  will 
cost  us  very  little  trouble,  and,  perhaps.,  we  can  show  them 
the  place  they  are  looking  for.'  ,i^«  ^  ?  •  . 

•-■■  "  So,  over  we  went,  and  father  said  to  the  man :  — 

***Well,  my.  friend,  you  seem  to  be  a  stranger.  Are 
you  looking  for  any  particular  name  or  number  ?  ' 

*' '  Ay,  sir,'  he  replied,  *  we  are  strangers,  indeed.  We 
are  just  now  off  the  sea,  and  canna'  get  our  boxes  off  the 
ship,  and  have  na  place  to  tak'  them  to,  if  we  could.  A 
man  on  the  wharf  bid  us  come  to  this  street  (McDougal), 
and  we'd  find  a  gentleman  that  was  e'er  looking  after  poor 
people ;  and  siiid  that  he  wad  tell  us  what  we'd  do.', . 


INTEKEST  FOB  STBANGEBS. 


159 


" '  There  are  a  great  many  gentlemen  in  this  street,  who 
are  kind  to  poor  people  and  strangers/  father  said.  *  Did 
they  not  give  you  the  name  ?  * 

"  *  Ay,  sir,  I  have  it  on  a  bit  of  paper  here ; '  and  he 
pulled  it  out,  and  read,  *  Rev.  Duncan  Dunbar,  46  Mc- 
Dougal  street.*  *F>»w^'*''  -''  '•-^^••''■■^  .(^w/.sv^  :^v  ^m^^»''^r: 

"  Father  smiled,  and  said,  *  Ah,  yes,  he  lives  in  that 
house,  No.  46.  Ring  at  the  door,  and  tell  the  servant 
that  you  are  to  wait  half  an  hour,  till  the  gentleman  comes 
I  will  send  him  to  you.' 


in. 


"  At  the  appointed  time  he  returned,  and,  having  told 
the  forlorn  creatures  that  he  was  the  one  they  were  seek- 
ing, ordered  a  comfortable  lunch  for  them.  Then  he  went 
out  and  hired  a  room,  —  probably  paying  a  month's  rent 
in  advance,  —  and  sent  them,  with  directions,  to  the  ship, 
for  their  little  all.  Then  dear  mother  had  to  go  —  where 
she  had  so  often  gone  before,  on  the  same  errand  —  to  the 
garret,  to  see  if  there  were  not  two  or  three  chairs,  or  an 
old  table,  or  a  bedstead,  that  she  could  spare ;  and  back  to 
the  kitchen  closets  for  a  few  old  dishes  o '  cooking-utensils. 
Before  nightfall,  the  poor  strangers  wert  keeping  house, 
with  grateful  hearts,  not  having  been  left  homeless  a  day 
in  the  New  World.  This  is  but  one  of  hundreds  of  like 
acts  that  his  family  and  friends  remember,  the  ftdl  reward 
of  which  he  is  to-day  enjoying." 

Some  men  are  benevolent  to  the  poor  only,  leaving 
others  who  are  in  trouble  to  get  on  as  they  may  ;  but  his 
compassion  extended  itself  to  all  classes,  whether  their 
want  was  money,  employment,  or  kindness  only.   >^     ;'   -^v 

One  day,  as  he  was  walking  in  the  street,  he  met  a  re- 
spectable couple,  who  asked  him  the  neurest  way  to  a  cer" 
tain  street.  After  directing  them,  he  said,  with  a  smile, 
"  I  think  you  are  Scotch,  —  are  you  not  ?  "        ''       '    "' '■ ' 


160 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


"  Yes,"  the  good  woman  replied.  "  And  I'm  sure,  sir, 
you  are  Scotch,  too."  And  then  she  told  him  that  they  had 
just  arrived  in  a  steamer,  and  that  their  large  family  were 
in  one  of  the  hotels,  while  they  were  seeking  a  house. 
They  had  a  list  of  places  they  had  seen  advertised,  two 
or  three  of  which  would  have  suited  them  j  but  the  land- 
lords would  not  let  them  to  a  family  with  nine  children. 
Their  last  resort  was  a  house  in  the  street  they  were  seek- 
ing. If  the  same  objection  were  made  there,  they  would 
be  obliged  to  prolong  their  stay  at  the  hotel,  —  a  thing  of 
no  small  consequence  to  eleven  persons  with  limited  means. 
"  Come  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Dunbar,  "and  I  will  make  it 
all  right.     1  know  the  afjent  of  this  house." 

He  then  turned  his  steps  homeward,  taking  these  strnn- 
gers,  who  needed  only  a  friend,  to  lunch  with  him.  He 
heard  their  history,  and  entered  into  the  case  of  each  of 
their  children,  for  whose  saka,  that  they  might  have  the 
advantages  of  the  New  World,  they  had  left  a  good  home 
in  Scotland.  He  then  went  with  them  in  searcli  of  a 
house,  and,  liaving  found  one,  pledged  himself  to  make 
good  any  injury  which  might  happen  to  it  from  the  nine 
ohildren.  These  strangers  wanted  not  silver  or  gold,  but 
only  a  friendly  hand.  :.  ,*  v    'I  ■  '  ; 


In  the  spring  of  1850,  Mr.  Dunbar  was  invited  to  the 
Second  Baptist  Church,  in  Philadelphia;  and  being  greatly 
exhausted  with  labor,  and  full  of  anxiety  about  tlie  debt 
luuler  which  McDougal  Street,  like  too  many  other  city 
churches,  was  groaning,  he  resolved  to  accept  the  cull. 
He  felt  that  he  might  recover  strength  by  a  change,  and 
also  tliat  a  younger  man  than  he  might  draw  in  new  men 
to  put  their  shoulderj  under  the  burden  there.  He  there- 
fore left  his  old  home  again ;  and  none  can  doubt  that 


REMOVAL  TO  PHILADELPHIA. 


161 


God's  hand  was  in  the  step.  The  Budd  Street  Church 
had  long  been  without^astoral  labor,  on  account  of  the 
increasing  infirmities  of  a  ather  Dodge,  whom  they  ten- 
derly cherished,  and  who,  having  given  them  the  benefit 
of  his  strength  and  vigor,  they  resolved  should  end  his 
long  and  useful  life  as  their  pastor. 

The  church  had  become  somewhat  scattered,  and  the 
congregation  diminished ;  but  there  was  a  strong  doctri- 
nal sympathy  between  them  and  Mr.  Dunbar ;  and  he 
also  felt  deeply  their  generosity  and  tenderness  toward 
his  beloved  friend,  their  aged  minister.  He  decided  to 
accept  their  call,  Father  D.  being  still  the  nominal  pastor. 
It  at  once  appeared  that  God  had  appointed  him  a  blessed 
work  there.  The  people  flowed  back  to  hear  the  Word 
of  Life  ;  and  a  revival  commenced,  in  which  many  were  ad- 
ded to  the  church..  The  body  was  strengthened  and  edi- 
fied, the  truth  of  God,  as  he  believed  and  preached  it, 
having  long  been  the  food  on  which  they  had  feasted,  and 
which  they  still  craved. 

Here  Mr.  Dunbar  and  his  family  received  great  kind- 
ness, and  formed  friendships  never  to  be  broken.  Hence- 
forth, Philadelphia  was  one  of  hit>  homes  and  his  Chris- 
tian friends  were  like  his  own  kindred.  His  work  here, 
though  important,  was  brief  He  left  the  church  with  the 
kindest  feeling  ;  and  ere  long  God  called  him  to  a  like 
short  but  useful  ministry  in  Tron'on,  N.  J.,  extending 
from  August,  1853,  to  November,  1854,  during  which  the 
church  was  much  quickened,  and  thirteen  were  added  by 
baptism. 

A  brother  mentions  "an  incident  which  illustrates  the 
good  ac  omplished  by  the  habit  of  speaking  to  strangers. 
iVlr.  Dunbar,  one  day,  met  a  boy  in  the  street,  whose  ap- 
pearance interested  him.    He  stopped  and  asked  if  he  were 


162 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


a  Sunday-school  boy,  and  was  answered  that  want  of 
proper  clothing  prevented  him  ||;om  going  either  to  Sun- 
day school  or  church.  Mr.  Dunbar,  at  his  own  expense, 
soon  removed  that  difficulty.  That  boy,  thus  brought 
under  the  means  of  grace,  was  afterward  converted,  and 
is  now  a  useful  member  of  that  church.*  ■      :  *     •       -  I  • 

After  seventeen  months  he  was  again  recalled  to  Mc- 
Dougal  Street.  Great  efforts  and  sacrifices  were  made  by 
that  affectionate  people  to  order  their  financial  matters  so 
as  to  renew  the  old  relations  between  them  without  tha 
pastor  again  being  worried  by  the  church  debt.  He  re- 
turned ;  and  very  soon  God  sent  among  them  those 
whose  hearts  and  whose  treasures  were  alike  laid  upon 
his  altar,  —  men  who  came  into  the  church  counting  it  ftn 
honor  to  bear  burdens  for  Christ's  sake.  His  wanderings 
in  God's  vineyard  were  now  ended.  The  shepherd  had 
come  back  to  the  fold  his  own  hand  had  gathered,  to  give 
them  his  last  care  and  toil,  and  to  receive  from  them  tliat 
tenderness  and  respect  which  ho  had  so  much  encour- 
aged toward  other  ministers  of  Christ  in  their  old  age. 

From  a  letter  from  Rev.  Octavius  Winslow,  written 
many  years  ago,  we  extract  the  following  in  reference  to 
Mr.  Dunbar's  remaining  with  his  old  people,  at  their  ear- 
nest request,  rather  than  seeking  a  new  field.  After  ad- 
vising him  to  do  so,  he  says :  "  Many  daughters  have 
done  virtuously,  bat  McDongal  Street  excelleth  them  all." 

In  expressing  the  gratification  of  his  people  at  Mr. 
Dunbar's  visit  in  Leamington,  where  he  then  lived,  and 
their  desire  to  hear  him  again  before  he  should  sail  for 
home.  Dr.  Winslow  says,  "  You  are  not  what  llobei  t 
Hall  calls  *  a  safe  supply.'  I  shall  report  you  at  McDou- 
gal  Street  for  stealing  the  hearts  of  my  people." 

'  bee  Ijflttcr  from  Tniiiton.  N.  J. 


f.i^.gtfffpti    -f^jt.-^/}^. 


^# 


'!-■   fm 


.i.V,'„>  V^.,,       *-; 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Letter  on  Unwarranted  Interference  in  Church  Af&drs,  and  on  KDnoritlee  ReslstiDg  Ha- 
joritiea  —  ConfeHions  of  Ii^udicioui  Kindnoss  —  Extracts  from  Letters  —  Heaping 
Coals  of  Fire  —  Adrioe  to  Young  Ministers  — A  Solemn  Providence. 

)ORE  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  Mr.  Dun- 
bar received  a  nearly  unanimous  call  from  a  large 
and  wealthy  church  at  a  distance  from  New  York. 
But  it  seems  there  wero  two  dissenting  voices  to 
the  call,  —  one  in  the  church,  and  one  in  the  con- 
gregation ;  and  before  he  had  sent  any  reply,  the  church- 
member,  more  noted  for  his  money  than  for  his  piety  or  in- 
telligence, induced  the  other  to  write  to  Mr.  Dunbar,  ex- 
pressing in  no  measured  terms  their  dislike  of  both  the 
matter  and  style  of  his  preaching.  If  th<>re  were  any  two 
things  which  annoyed  him,  it  was  to  see  a  minoj'ity  resist 
and  battle  a  majority,  and  to  ee  those  not  in  a  church  med- 
dling with  its  aifairs.  Both  of  these  occ».»Hng  liero,  he 
wrote,  despite  his  natural  kindness,  a  plain  reply,  feeling 
that  he  was  vindicating  Baptist  prin^iplea  rather  than  his 
own  cause.  We  make  the  following  extracts  from  his 
letter :  — 

"  Dear  Sir  ,  —  At  a  late  hour  last  night,  I  received  a 
long  communication,  to  which  your  name  is  appended. 
How  far  your  gratuitous  interference  with  the  aftiiirH  of  a 
cliurch  of  which  you  are  not  a  member  may  be  j)leasing 
to  God  or  honorable  to  yourself,  as  a  gentleman,  is  not  for 
me  to  decide  ;  but  you  ought  to  know  tliat  any  church  of 

llie  B(  ..tint  denomination,  regarding  its  sacred  principles 

(103  > 


164 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


of  independence,  would  justly  rebuke  any  such  officious 
dictation.  •^'      -  ...^ 

"  My  respect  ^or  Mrs. ,  and  my  sense  of  gratitude 

for  your  oc'  asional  hospitality,  forbid  me  to  add  what  a 
regard  for  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  the  cause  of  Christ 
in  the Baptist  church  of would  otherwise  con- 
strain me  to  say  on  this  subject.  Ministers  may  be  found 
who  will  listen  to  such  unworthy  arguments  as  you  and 
your  hopeful  associate  advanced  to  me,  and  they  may  suf- 
fer themselves  to  be  influenced  by  your  unmanly  interfer- 
ence with  the  scriptural  and  conscientious  prerogatives  of  a 
gospel  church,  and  with  their  own  responsibility  as  minis- 
ters of  Christ ;  but  surely,  sir,  you  must  have  mistaken 
my  character,  if  you  supposed  that  I  could,  for  a  moment, 
be  swayed  in  deciding  my  course  of  duty  by  sucli  unlioly 

Buggestions    as   those   made   by   yourself  and    Mr. . 

Had  I  been  at  this  time  (which  he  was  not)  in  circum- 
stances to  listen  to  the  affectionate  application  of  that 
church,  I  liavo  very  ample  and  tangible  proofs  of  their  at- 
tachment to  me,  both  as  a  friend  to  the  best  interests  of 
tlieir  souls,  and  lilcewise  to  those  precious  declarations  of 
God,  which  constitute  tlie  gospel  of  salvation,  and  which 
were  never  designed  to  foster  the  pride  of  man  intoxicated 
with  the  love  of  '  style,'  and  courting  worldly  popularity, 
at  the  expense  of  that  system  of  mercy  adapted  only  to 
nourish  '  the  poor  in  spirit.' 

•'  You  are  much  to  blame  for  allowing  yourself  to  be 
imposed  upon  by  parties  who,  I  fear,  have  otlier  objects  to 
accomplish  than  the  glory  of  God  and  the  peace  and  union 
of  tlie  church,  and  for  your  meddling  in  a  matter  which, 
by  the  practice  and  privileges  of  Baptist  churches,  and  by 
the  law  of  the  land  belongs  in  no  way  to  you.  I  believe 
the  Saviour  loves  and   regaids   those   whom  you  afl'ect 


INJUDICIOUS  KINDNESS. 


165 


to  despise  as  incapable  of  judging  what  is  or  is  not 
adapted  to  meet  the  wants  of  their  own  souls  ;  and  if  that 
church  should  ever  choose  a  pastor  whose  style  or  other 
ministerial  qualifications  do  not  happen  to  accord  with 
your  taste,  it  will  be  your  privilege  to  abstain  from  hearing 
him  !  But  beyond  that,  your  interference  with  him  or 
with  the  doings  of  the  church  will  be  regarded  by  all  wise 
and  good  men  as  a  stretch  of  undelegated  authority,  which, 
in  the  niiieteenth  century,  an  archbishop  would  blush  to 
le.  I  say  this  frankly  for  your  good.  May  you  profit 
in  tutare  by  my  candor.  As  to  your  associate  in  this 
tter,  I  regard  his  conduct  in  a  light  much  more  repre- 
hensible. He  is  a  member  of  the  church,  and  is  bound 
peaceably  to  abide  by  its  decisions,  or  quietly  to  withdraw 
and  join  some  other  body.  • 

"  I  am  sir,  yours,  &c., 

"  Duncan  Dunbar.'* 

So  kind  were  Mr.  Dunbar's  feelings,  that,  in  the  earlier 
days  of  his  ministry,  pity  sometimes  triumphed  over  his 
judgment,  in  sympathizing  with  persons  who,  having  been 
under  discipline  in  other  churches,  came  to  him  for  counsel. 
Not  that  ever  he  censured  those  bodies  for  exercising  their 
rights  in  these  matters  ;  but,  if  he  believed  the  offending 
one  a  child  of  God,  he  sometimes  used  his  influence  with 
pastor  or  people  to  have  him  rest(jred  to  the  fold.  But 
in  later  ^  ears  he  looked  very  differently  on  this  course, 
believing,  from  his  own  observation  and  experience,  that, 
with  rare  exceptions,  God  gives  his  churches  wisdom  to 
guide  them  in  the  exercise  of  their  autlwrity.  Li 
speaking  oi  this  subject  a  few  years  ago,  he  said  : 
"  Several  times  in  my  life  have  1,  believing  delinquents 
to  have  repented,  and  thinking  they  might  yet  be 
happy  and  useful  in  the  Church  of  Christ,  induced  those 


f 


166 


BUNCAN  DUNBjLR. 


against  whom  they  had  offended  to  restore  them  and 
give  them  letters  of  dismission.  In  nearly  all  these  cases 
it  was  soon  proved  to  me  and  my  brethren  that  I  i.  d 
erred  ;  for  no  sooner  were  they  warm  in  our  bosom 
than  they  turned  round  and  stung  us  for  our  inju- 
dicious kindness ;  and  became  to  us  just  what  they  were 
liefbre,  *  troublers  in  Zion.'  "     ■  J:  ^  ^mi;  ;  »¥ 

To  an  absent  member  of  his  flock,  ^vlr.  Dunbar  wrote 
of  this  class: —   -  ^ - 

"  Evidently  the  eye  of  the  Lord  is  upon  this  church 

for  good.     Those  who  have   vexed  and  afflicted    them 

first    and    last,    have    not    greatly    prospered,    while   I 

can  trace  tokens  of  his  gracious  approbation  in  various 

ways  upon  all  who  have  sympathized  with    and  helped 

them.  .         .'       . 

'  God  moTes  in  a  mysterioas  way, 
His  wonders  to  perform.' 

"  By  the  Lord's  great  and  unmerited  goodness,  here  is 
poor  old  McDougal  Sti'eet  Church  still  in  existence, — 
*  faint  yet  pursuing,'  and  here  is  their  unworthy  old 
pastor  still  at  their  head. 

"  Be  pleased  to  thank  dear  Mrs. from  me  for  the 

kind  interest  she  feels  and  expresses  for  this  people  ;  and 
tell  her  not  to  vex  her  mind  about  not  being  able  to  do 
more  for  them.  Tell  her  that  Zion's  God  and  Redeemer 
will  surely  send  us  aid  I  I  hear  a  voice  from  heaven 
saying  to  them  and  to  me,  *  I  know  thy  works,  and 
tribulation,  and  poverty;  and  that  for  my  name^s  sake 
thou  hast  labored  and  not  fainted.'  "  * 


*  This  was  at  a  dme  of  great  flnancial  trial,  after  one  of  the  divisions  in 
the  church.  The  debt  pressed  heavily  on  them,  and  Mr.  Dunbar  wa» 
making  a  strong  effort  among  themselves  and  personal  friends  ootiiide  th» 


/ . 


SPIRIT  OF  FORGIVENESS. 


There  were  two  classes  of  people  who,  above  all 
others,  seemed  to  have  unbounded  claims  on  Mr.  Dun- 
bar's pity,  —  those  who  had  shown  him  kindness,  and 
those  who  had  tried  in  any  way  to  wrong  or  grieve 
him.  His  gratitude  was  excelled  only  by  his  spirit  of 
forgiveness.  In  the  early  days  of  his  ministry  he  in- 
nocently gained  the  ill-will  of  an  influential  man,  who, 
being  under  the  discipline  of  the  church,  tried  to  justify 
his  disorderly  course  by  making  it  a  personal  matter 
between  himself  and  the  pastor.  The  church,  however, 
pursued  its  own  course,  and  it  being  proved  that  his 
conduct  and  spirit  were  wholly  at  variance  with  the 
gospel,  they  excluded  him  from  their  fellowship.  The 
whole  body  was  too  formidable  a  foe  to  grapple  with  ;  so 
the  enmity  the  delinquent  cherished  against  all,  he  con- 
centrated on  the  pastor.  He  commenced  a  course  of 
annoyances  which  amounted  to  persecution,  writing  in- 
sulting letters,  and  speaking  disrespectfully  of  him  as  the 
agent  of  the  church  in  the  matter.  Even  then  God  was 
in  the  place  by  his  converting  Sj)irit,  and  the  church  was 
robed  in  her  most  beautiful  garments ;  but  this  man 
was  not  awe-stricken  by  the  majesty  of  God,  nor  melted 
by  the  love  of  the  brethren  ;  he  pursued  liis  work  with 
a  tliligence  and  persistency  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  re- 
solving that  the  tender  relation  between  pastor  and  people 
should  be  sundered. 

Ministers  alone  can  fully  realize  the  painfulness  of  Mr. 
Dunbar's  situation  at  this  time.    Craving,  above  all  things, 


c'luri'lj,  to  reduce  it.  And  he  whose  heart  and  hand  were  ever  open  to 
othei-H,  met  witli  like  kindness  for  the  people  to  whom  he  had  just  returned 
^'  ;r  a  i'cw  joars'  absence.  The  debt  whh  very  nearly  paid  some  time 
before  \\\i  death,  and  since  that,  those  who  know  the  desire  of  his  heart  re- 
?iwilin;'  it  have  Hwcpt  it  off. 


>^- 


168 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR.*!^ 


peace  in  the  church,  and  quiet  in  his  own  soul,  to  do  his 
work  with  singleness  of  heart ;  pitying  the  nervous  anxiety 
^id  intense  mental  suffering  of  the  meek  sharer  of  his 
trials,  to  whom  the  honor  of  Christ  was  dearer  than  life ; 
he  was  tempted  to  lay  'Own  his  weapons  and  flee  before 
the  foe.  Then  came  the  fear,  lest,  like  Jonah,  he  might 
shrink,  through  a  selfish  desire  to  escape  trial,  from  a  bur- 
den God  had  laid  on  him.  He  alone,  who  holds  the  stars 
in  his  right  hand,  and  whose  servants  are  dearer  to  Him 
than  the  apple  of  His  ey.e,  knows  the  prayers,  tho  tears, 
the  agony  of  those  months.  Mr.  Dunbar  was  looking  for 
a  token  from  the  Lord ;  and  now,  when  pressed  beyond 
measure  with  labors  and  trials,  he  received  an  urgent  call 
to  go  to  the  help  of  the  Lord  in  another  place.  This  was 
unsought  and  unlooked  for ;  and  he  copcluded  that  God 
had  thus  answered  his  prayers  for  release  from  a  relentless 
persecutor.  He  left  a  large,  flourishing  church,  and  went 
forth  to  toil  with  a  few  brethren,  in  a  community  where 
the  Baptists  were  almost  unknown. 

But  God  was  not  done  with  this  matter.  His  servant, 
driven  ruthlessly  from  the  people  of  his  heart,  had  taken 
up  his  instruments  of  toil  among  strangers,  and  was  break- 
ing new  ground,  and  casting  in  the  seed,  from  which  others 
were  to  gather,  as  they  are  doing  even  till  this  day,  the  full 
harvest.  But  as  for  the  oppressor,  who  had  not  feared  to 
put  asundei  what  God  had  joined  together,  the  glory  de- 
parted from  his  house  in  ways  which  would  have  made  any 
human  heart  pity  and  pray  for  him.  Far  be  it  from  us  to 
draw  aside  the  veil  which  time  and  the  grave  have  spread 
over  the  dealings  of  God  with  this  man,  from  that  hour  to 
his  death.  Our  object  is  to  show  how  grace  triumi)hed 
in  the  heart  of  God's  servant,  overcoming  all  feelings  of 
enmity. 


HEAPING  OOiLS  OF  FIRE. 


169 


Long  years  had  f  o  and  these  two  had  never  met. 
When  tl^e  report  of  the  t  misfortunes  of  the  one  reached  the 
ear  of  the  othe.,  he  always  said,  "  Poor  feiiow  I  I'm  sorry 
for  him  !  "  There  was  no  revenge  to  be  gratified,  no  un- 
forgiving spirit  to  stand  between  his  soul  and  God.  He 
read,  one  morning,  of  a  sad  catastrop}'  o  '.  ^xich  had  just  oc- 
curred, and  glancing  over  the  names  of  the  sufferers,  who 
had  been  brought  to  New  York,  exclaimed,  "  Ah,  here  is 

arpong  them  I     He  is  poor  now,  and  among 

strangers      I  must  go  down  and  loik  after  him,  poor 
fellow!"    ,>  •-':-       :'•-.....-■:•■'        ."  -^^  *  ,  -■'■i-'    ■* /v.;'H.vvsSi,. 

Some  one  smilingly  suggested,  "  You  certainly  do  not 
owe  him  a  very  heavy  debt  of  gratitude." 

"  But,"  he  replied,  "  I  owe  a  great  deal  to  God,  and 
this  is  one  of  his  creatures  in  affliction.  Perhaps  He  has 
sent  him  to  me  to  prove  my  spirit,  and  also  that  I  may 
show  him  how  grace  can  teach  a  man  to  love  his  enemies. 
This  is  the  way  in  which  we  may  heap  con  Is  of  fire  on  the 
heads  of  our  foes." 

He  made  this  the  first  business  of  tht  .«Vj  and  found  his 
old  parishioner  in  absolute  want  of  c/jthing,  and  every 
camfort,  and  without  a  dollar.  He  hired  a  carriage, 
drove  with  him  to  his  tailor,  dressed  him  respectably, 
took  him  home,  and  then  supplied  h:m  with  money  to 
reach  his  family.  While  he  was  his  guest,  questions  were 
asked  and  answered  about  the  old  place  c.id  its  people,  but 
no  allusion  whatever  was  made  to  the  R(^rrows  of  by-gone 
years.  A  foe  was  thus  changed  into  a  friend  ;  no  unkind 
word  ever  fell  from  that  man's  lips  therefc.iter. 

At  another  period  in  his  early  ministry,  Mr.  Dunbar 
was  toiling  hard,  and  making  great  porvsonal  sacrifices  to 
build  a  church,  which,  even  at  this  distant  day,  conferees 
its  obligations  to  him,  as  an  instrur  j*;,^  'n  God's  hand,  for 


m 


iiiMiA^msi^. 


its  pe6ent  position.  He  once  heard  a  rf  ri>?..k,  which 
#6M  as  ail  art^w  to  his  heart.  A  brother,  one  jv^ho  pro- 
fessed great  friendship  for  him,  had  said,  "  Now  we  are 
taking  a  good  position,  and  have  a  fine  house  ;  I  think  it 
would  be  bettei"  for  us  to  have  a  young  man  from  one  of 
the  colleges,  to  draw  in  a  different  class  of  people." 

The  meaning  of  this  was,  that  Mr.  Dunbar's  stem  ortho- 
doxy, and  his  plain,  escperimental  preaching  had  few  charm* 
for  the  liberals  by  whom  they  were  surrounded,  and  who,  on 
account  of  their  worldly  standing  were  regarded  as  profit- 
able allies,  could  they  but  be  gathered  in.  He  realized  that 
this  was  but  the  beginning  of  an  end  ;  and,  having  pressing 
calls  elsewhere,  he  resigned  and  left,  —  the  church  not 
knowing  the  reason  to  this  day.  Mr.  Dunbar  was  still 
young  in  the  trials  of  the  ministry,  and  the  opinion 
and  remark  of  one  man  affected  him  more  than  those  of 
fifty  wc.  \  i  liuve  done  in  his  later  years.  Such  discourage- 
ments Irtntjired  his  work ;  and  he  took  to  himself,  perhaps 
unwisely,  the  command  of  Jesus  to  his  early  disciples, 
"  When  they  persecute  you  in  one  city,  flee  to  another." 

This,  no  doubt,  accounts  for  some  of  his  frequent  re- 
movals at  that  period.  As  his  faith  grew  stronger,  so  did 
his  courage ;  and  he  learned  to  leave  the  question  of  his 
changes  with  his  Master,  rather  than  with  one  or  two  men, 
who  might  not  always  be  actuated  by  the  purest  motives ; 
hence  the  subsequent  permanency  of  his  pastoral  rela- 
tion. 

In  after  years,  the  brother  who  wanted  a  "  young  man 
from  one  of  the  colleges,"  found  himself  in  sorrow  and  dis- 
appointment, and  in  sore  need  of  a  sincere  friend  who 
could  lend  him  a  helping  hand.  Having  never  known  the 
cause  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  departure  from  the  church  to  which 
he  belonged,  he  made  his  case  known  to  him,  and  met 


ADVICR  TO  YOUNO  MINISTERS. 


t  171 


with  a  brother's  sympathy.  By  money,  hospitality,  and 
the  influence  he  needed,  he  was  made  to  rejoice  that  ever 
he  had  met  with  Duncan  Dunbar.       -' 

Early  experience  made  Mr.  Dnnb-T  a  wise  counsel- 
lor to  young  ministers.  When  orve  v  ,riM  come  to  him, 
grieved   and    annoyed,   and   feel  his   only   way 

of  escape  was  to  resign  his  cha  ild  say,  "  Do 

nothing  rashly  ;  you'll  not  get  nc  .  uuble  that  way. 

Leave  this  with  the  Lord,  and  he'll  take  care  of  you.  He 
is  perfectly  able  either  to  remove  the  troubler,  or  to  take 
the  troubled  one  to  heaven.  Just  preach  as  well  as  you 
can ;  keep  your  own  heart  right,  and  tell  the  Lord  Jesus 
about  it.  He  mhU  make  the  case  his  own."  Oh,  how 
many  heavy-laden  pastors  have  found  encouragement  and 
sympathy  in  his  study,  and  gone  thence  to  take  up,  hope- 
fully, the  work  they  were  before  just  ready  to  lay  down  I 
One  incident  we  cannot  refrain  mentioning. 

A  young  pastor,  in  a  large  and  important  field  in 
another  city,  had  been  to  him  several  times  for  advice  and 
sympathy  in  his  trials.  His  church  was  united,  and 
the  pastor  beloved  and  useful ;  *'  but,"  he  said,  **  I  have 
one  man  who  troubles  me  sorely,  —  he  drove  away  my 
predecessor,  and  now  he's  worrying  me  till  I  can  endure  it 
no  longer.  I  can't  work  with  this  constant  chafing.  I'm 
going  to  resign  my  charge,  and  if  you  know  of  any  church 
in  want  of  a  pastor  you  may  mention  my  name." 

"  Wait  a  little,  brother,"  Mr.  D.  replied.  "  If  you 
have  only  one  man  to  worry  you,  you  are  pretty  well  off" ! 

Brother is  a  good  man,  —  one  of  the  Lord's  crooked 

ones  ;  bear  with  hin^.,  ind  don't  be  driven  from  your  post. 
The  Lord  will  take  care  of  him.  He  can  either  subdue 
his  will,  or  take  him  to  heaven,  where  he'll  be  easy  1 
Move  straight  forward,  just  as  if  he  were  not  in  your  way  ; 


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33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WMSTIR.N.Y    USIO 

(716)  •73-4503 


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'm''^ 


m 


VUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


do  your  own  duty,  and  see  if  God  does  not  take  this  afiair 
into  his  own  hand." 

The  joung  man  then  listened  to  an  account  of  Mr.  D.'s 
own  early  trials,  when  one  or  two  men  had  power  to 
shake  him,  and  of  his  later  experience,  which  had  taught 
him  to  leave  these  matters  wholly  with  God,  rather  than 
run  from  his  post.  He  went  away  strengthened  hy  find- 
ing that  no  strange  trials  had  befallen  him. 

What  was  Mr.  Dunbar's  surprise  to  hear  in  a  few  days 
that  God  had  come  in  mercy  to  both  p?.rties,  and  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  had  taken  his  restless  child  to  himself, 
where  he  would  be  both  easy  and  holy,  and  left  hili  young 
disciple  to  toil  —  for  a  season  at  least  —  unmolested. 

This  incident,  which  occurred  several  years  ago,  we 
have  from  the  hps  of  the  minister  himself,  and  who  is  still 
pastor  of  the  church  he  was  then  aboat  to  leave  in  dis- 
couragement. God  had  a  great  work  for  him  there,  from 
which  he  would  suffer  no  man  to  force  him. 


'i  ■  ^  *(.  _    .''.'"' 


,    -  •  •  •    /t- 


I 


'J". 


■■■■*    •     ■/'!     ■■■■i-     VI    f>:-    "iK'J 


Irf  *  V 


.  ,'f,:v.>»;.v 


■Dr.-, 


I/V. 


fc^" 


U  CHAPTER  XVIII. 


Oark  Dkyi  In  MoDougal  Street— The  Oloui  Dispelleil— A  NewTrUl— Dinel  Annrar  H 

Vnxet. 

LV      '■■£■  -^ 

LLUSION  has  been  made  in  the  foregoing  pages 
to  divisions  which  at  times  rent  the  church  of 
which  Mr.  Dunbar  was  so  long  the  pastor ;  but  it 
is  no  part  of  our  work  to  describe  or  comment  on 
them,  and  they  are  mentioned  only  to  show,  by 
little  incidents  connected  with  those  times,  the  char- 
acter of  Mr.  Dunbar  as  a  man  of  faith  and  prayer,  and 
also  the  sympathy  and  aid  he  received  from  Mrs.  Dunbar, 
in  his  work.  At  one  time,  when  McDougal  Street  Church 
was  sitting  in  the  dust,  and  her  heart  failing  her  for  fear,  — 
when,  many  having  slept,  the  enemy  had  sown  the  tares 
of  division, —  Mrs.  Dunbar,  whose  sensitive  heart  longed  for 
love  and  peace,  fled  from  the  tumult  for  a  little  time  to 
compose  her  troubled  spirit  in  the  quiet  rural  home  of  her 
eldest  daughter.  Afler  a  few  days,  Mr.  Dunbar,  realizing 
fully  and  pitying  deeply  her  sensitiveness  for  the  honor 
of  Christ,  went  up  the  Hudson  to  her,  to  tell  her  that  there 
was  a  lull  in  the  storm. 

On  the  morning  afler  his  arrival,  Mrs.  Dunbar  said  to 
tiini,  "  I  am  sure,  my  dear,  you  must  have  sat  up  nearly  all 
the  night.  1  wakened  when  I  knew  it  must  be  almost 
morning,  and  you  still  sat  reading  ;  and  I  see  the  oil  is  all 
gone  from  the  lamp.  Did  you  remain  up  all  night  ?  '* 
"  No,  my  dear,"  he  replied ;  '*  I  did  not  sit  up  quite  so  late 

10  •  (178) 


174 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


as  that ;  but  I  did  sit  up  till  I  got  my  faith  greatly  strength- 
ened by  reading  the  whole  account  of  the  fidl  of  the  walls  of 
Jericho.  I  learned  there  how  easy  it  is  for  the  Lord  to 
bring  about  his  purposes  by  mean«i  we  never  would  dream 
of,  and  would  never  think  of  trying.  And  I  read  also,  in  a 
Scotch  paper,  which  I  brought  up  with  me,  an  authentic 
account  of  how  the  Almighty  saved  one  of  his  ministers 
from  trouble  and  strife  by  taking  him  suddenly  to 
heaven.  It  showed  me  how  easy  it  is  for  Him  to  take 
me  away  fr(Hn  the  troublers,  or  to  take  the  froublers  away 
from  me."     -^^  ^^--—  ..■  ^  %."^;-.  .±-r:\-  'i\. 

The  story,  "  There*s  nae  strife  up  there,'*  had  made  a 
deep  impression  on  Mr.  Dunbar's  mind,  and  tears  filled 
his  eyes,  as  he  said,  "  I  believe  that  my  brethren  will  sus- 
tain me,  and  that  God  will  carry  us  safely  through  this 
trial."  And  he  did  so,  allowing  pastor  and  people  to 
see  more  than  a  score  of  years  together  in  his  service,  ere 
he  called  him  to  come  up  where  "  there's  nae  strife ;  "  and 
these  last  were  among  the  most  peacefr'     ^ars  of  his  life. 

His  weapon  of  defence  in  these  co  -  .is  was  "  All- 
prayer,"  and  he  used  it  with  that  confidence  which  in- 
sured success.  His  place  was  not  always  an  easy  one. 
With  the  menacing  foe  witho^it,  the  trembling  peacemaker 
at  home,  and  a  conscience  and  ^vill  in  his  own  breast  which 
never  yielded  to  either  threat  or  entreaty  when  duty  was 
plain,  it  required  great  grace,  as  well  as  real  tenderness, 
not  to  yield  to  any  influence  for  the  sake  of  peace  alone. 

Althougii  timidity  and  nervous  anxiety  were  natural  to 
Mrs.  Dunbar,  she  sometimes  rose  above  them,  strong  in 
faith  ;  but  it  was  always  after  first  passing  through  waves 
of  sorrow  and  humiliation  before  God. 

At  one  time  the  McDougal  Street  Church,  having 
ijuietly  and  justly  withdrawn  the  hand  of  fellowship  from 


DARK  DATS  IN  m'DOUOAL  STREET. 


176 


nn  unworthy  member,  were  thrown  into  np  little  per- 
plexity thereby.  The  two  deacons,  who  had  borne  tte 
unwelcome  message  to  the  offender,  were  threatened  with 
a  lawsuit,  with  heavy  damages,  for  defamation  of  character. 
The  case  was  filed  and  writs  served,  and  although  not  a 
doubt  existed  as  to  the  result,  they  feared  it  would  prove 
an  annoying  and  expensive  business,  causing  a  notoriety 
anything  but  agreeable  to  a  church  of  Christ.  But  it 
had  to  be  met.  An  eminent  lawyer,  a  personal  friend  of  the 
pastor,  was  consulted,  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  the 
deacons  must  take  the  defensive  in  the  suit,  the  church  as- 
suming all  pecuniary  responsibilities,  as  they  were  acting 
for  them  in  the  matter. 

The  general  opinion  was  that  the  movement  was  an 
effort  to  obtain  "  hush  money,"  by  way  of  a  compromise. 
But  both  church  and  pastor,  feeling  their  full  liberty  to 
discipline,  and.  if  necessary  for  God's  honor,  to  expel  un- 
ruly members,  firmly  resolved  never  to  consent  to  this,  be 
the  consequence  what  it  might. 

So  subpoenas  and  the  like  papers,  which  had  never  been 
seen  by  Mrs.  Dunbar  before,  now  came  to  the  house, 
causing  her  great  distress.  The  deacons  and  other  ju- 
dicious brethren  always  sympathizing  with  her  sensitive- 
ness, did  all  in  their  power  to  quiet  her  fears,  by  assuring 
her  that  it  must  be  well  in  the  end,  as  the  witnesses 
against  the  prosecutor  for  open  immorality  were  so  many. 
But  the  honor  of  Christ  seemed  to  her  involved  in  the 
matter  ;  she  could  not  endure  to  see  the  name  of  that 
church  •  she  loved  bandied  about  in  court  and  in  the 
daily  papers.  •    '     '*^ 

Sleep  fled  her  pillow,  and  she  gave  herself  to  prayer. 
We  know  that  for  whole  days,  and  nights  too,  she  lived 
before  the  throne,  pleading  with  God  that,  for  his  own 


176 


DUNCAN   DUNBAB. 


name's  sake,  he  would  not  leave  his  heritage  to  reproach 
nor  suffer  its  enemies  to  rejoice  over  it.  The  agony  of 
those  hours  will  never  be  known  by  any  save  Him  who 
was  touched  by  the  feeling  of  her  infirmity. 

One  evening,  a  gentleman  in  the  congregation,  in  whose 
friendship  and  judgment  she  had  great  confidence,  called 
at  the  house,  and,  Mr.  Dunbar  not  being  in,  he  asked 
for  her.  When  she  came  down  to  the  parlor,  the  friend 
said :  *'  Mrs.  Dunbar,  I've  brought  you  good  news.  When 
these  people  found  that  the  church  had  no  idea  of  compro- 
mising, but  were  making  preparations  for  a  defence,  they 
withdrew  the  suit ;  and  that  will  be  the  end  of  it." 

She  said  yery  little  but  to  express  great  gratitude  for  the 
result,  and  to  thank  him  for  hastening  to  relieve  her  mind. 
But  when  he  left,  she  said  to  one  of  her  daughters,  who 
was  at  home,  "  This  is  certainly  very  remarkable  I  No 
one  can  imagine  what  I  have  suffered  about  this  affair.  It 
seemed  for  many  days  that  I  could  do  nothing  but  pray ; 
and  yet  prayer  did  not  relieve  me  of  the  dreadful  forebod- 
ing I  felt.  This  afternoon,  I  went  up  to  my  room,  feeling 
that  I  never  could  leave  the  mercy-seat  without  an  answer 
of  peace.  Anu  while  I  was  praying,  I  felt  such  a  calmness 
come  over  my  spirit  as  I  cannot  describe.  I  felt  that  God 
would  take  the  cause  into  his  own  hands  ;  that  the  church 
was  his,  and  that  he  would  see  that  its  honor  was  main- 
tained. I  did  not  feel  sure  that  the  trouble  was  to  be  re- 
moved, but  that  he  would  take  the  management  of  itj 
and  I  lefl  it  there." 


^1' 


i.-'f«  i..«  '.*•  ■  ,■■'?><  .11',' 


4, 


<''-'»k 


'I'fii'i"'  ■ 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


Dnfti  on  the  Bank  of  Faith  —  Oaze  for  ie»  Widow  and  the  fatherlaaa  —  Ood't  Af> 
proral  of  the  Work— Miiller's  Life  of  T^ust— DlscomagemeBt—A  JtiyAil  Snxpriae. 

)R.  DUNBAR  began  early  to  draw  on  the  bank 
of  heaven  ;  and  his  drafts  being  honored,  he  grew 
strong  in  faith,  and  in  after  years  rarely  ever 
halted  in  any  benevolent  enterpiise  for  want  of 
money.  One  of  his  earliest  proofs  of  God's  willing 
ness  to  give  to  those  who  trust  in  him  and  do 
good  is  mentioned  by  a  friend  of  his  earlier  years. 

While  in  the  Province  of  New  Brunswick,  Mr.  Dunbar 
used  fi-equently  to  preach  in  a  neighborhood  where  was 
great  religious  destitution,  —  so  far  from  home  that  he  was 
obliged  to  accept  the  hospitality  of  a  poor  fisherman  over 
night.  The  people  in  the  settlement  were  all  dependent 
for  their  bread  upon  the  fish  they  caught,  carrying  them 
to  the  distant  stores  and  exchanging  them  for  provisions 
and  clothing. 

On  one  of  these  visits,  Mr.  Dunbar  found  the  poor  man, 
who  had  opened  his  house  for  religious  services,  in  very 
great  distress,  —  a  creditor  having  seized  his  boat  for  a 
small  debt,  and  thus  cut  off  his  whole  means  of  living. 
He  felt  very  deeply  for  the  poor  father  and  his  helpless 
family,  but  had  at  the  time  no  money,  except  a  sum  soon 
due  for  rent.  Still,  their  case  pressed  on  his  mind ;  and 
after  much  thought  and  prayer  during  the  night,  he  rose 
in  the  morning,  paid  the  debt,  restored  the  boat,  and  re- 
solved to  trust  God  for  means  to  meet  his  own  obligation. 

(177) 


178 


DtrtTCAN  DXJNBAB. 


Thus,  in  their  affliction,  did  God  reward  the  humble  fam 
ily  who  had  entertained   him  when   about  his  Master's 
business. 

There  was  in  his  church,  at  this  time,  a  family  in  great 
anxiety  about  a  beloved  son,  so  long  at  sea  that  he  was  al- 
most given  up  as  lost.  On  Mr.  Dunbar's  return  from  the 
fisherman's  village,  he  found  a  message  waiting  him  from 
these  friends.  Their  son  had  come  home,  and  tliuy  sent 
for  him  to  their  house  to  rejoice  with  them,  and  to  g^ve 
thanks  for  his  deliverance  from  the  perils  to  which  M  bkd 
been  exposed.  I  f  15 

After  the  first  greetings  were  over,  the  joyful  mother 
said,  '*  Mr.  Dunbar,  when  I  was  in  such  trouble,  hoping 
and  fearing  about  my  boy,  I  laid  away  a  sum  of  money  I 
had  in  my  hand,  resolving  that,  if  my  prayers  were  an- 
swered, I  would  give  it  as  a  thank-offering  to  the  Lord. 
Here  it  is,  a  personal  gift  to  you,  his  servant."  It  was 
more  than  enough  to  pay  for  the  fisherman's  boat ! 

Thus  for  his  own  wants,  and  those  of  others,  the  spring 
of  heaven's  vaults  yielded  to  his  touch.  This  was  not  a 
rare  case,  but  one  of  hundreds,  in  which  God  gave  him 
direct  answers  to  the  prayer  of  faith.  A  few  of  tlie  many 
known  to  those  familiar  with  his  daily  life  are  given  here 
for  the  encouragement  of  tliose  less  strong  than  he  in  belief 
of  the  promise,  "  Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given." 
,-,  In  one  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  voyages  to  Great  Britain  his 
-  generous  people  had  made  what  they  and  he  thought  ample 
provision  for  his  expenses.  But  on  his  return  home  he 
found  that,  from  causes  beyond  his  control,  he  had  ex- 
ceeded this  by  the  sum  of  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
True,  it  was  owed  to  a  friend,  who  would  never  trouble 
him ;  but  his  noble  heart  abhorred  debt  next  to  sin.  It 
was  never  his  cistom  to  live  beyond  his  means,  expecting 


ANSWER  TO  PfiATEB. 


tw 


his  willing  people  to  make  mp  the  deficiency.  For  thc^ 
sakes,  as  .well  as  his  own,  this  indebtedness  was  kept  a 
family  secret.  Domestic  arrangemwts  were  all  made  with 
reference  to  sweeping  it  off  at  once. 

This  little  sum,  which  his  friends  would  have  cheer- 
fully paid,  had  they  known  it,  I'ose  up  like  a  moun- 
tain to  disturb  his  houns  of  prayer  and  of  study. 
He  soon  felt  that  Satan  was  making  use  of  it  to  hinder 
his  access  to  God  and  to  weaken  his  faith,  an4  he  re- 
solved, in  the  divine,  strength,  to  throw  it  off  his  mind.  In 
alluding  to  this,  which,  to  those  not  ministers,  may  seem 
a  small  matter,  he  used  to  say,  that  in  no  trial  of  his  life 
did  he  feel  more  surely  that  his  heavenly  Father  had  taken 
up  the  burden  h^  had  cast  down  before  him.  There  he 
left  it,  and  went  about  his  work  and  his  charities  with  as 
free  a  mind  as  if  he  had  thousands  at  his  command.  He 
was  now  amazed  and  mortified  to  see  how  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  be  vexed  by  such  a  trifle,  when  the  word  of 
him  who  made  the  world  was  pledged  for  the  wants  of 
his  servants. 

Shortly  after  this,  he  was  sent  for  to  attend  the  ftineral 
of  Mrs.  T.,  at  White  Plains,  a  beloved  mtiyib;i!r  of  his 
church,  and  a  dear  friend  of  his  family.  He  did  so  ;  and 
remained  all  night  at  the  hospitable  mansion  of  Mr.  Ged- 
ney,  the  fiather  of  the  deceased.  In  the  morning,  at  re- 
quest of  the  heirs,  he  was  present  at  the  opening  of  Mrs. 
T.'s  will.  To  his  amazement,  his  name,  as  her  beloved 
pastor,  was  in  the  list  of  legatees  for  exactly  the  amount 
of  the  indebtedness. 

He  said,  in  reference  to  this  direct  answ«r  to  prayer, 
"  Dear  Mrs,  T.  knew  nothing  of  this  want  of  mine  ;  but 
God  did^  and  made  her  the  instrum^fit  of  providing  foir  it ; 


180 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


not  a  dollar  too  little,  nor  a  dollar  too  much ;  but  just 
what  1  asked  him  for." 

At  one  time,  a  worthy  young  man  having  procured  a 
lucrative  situation  in  Washington,  sent  to  his  distant  home 
for  his  widowed  mother  and  two  young  sisters.  As  they 
were  to  wait  in  New  York  till  he  came  there  for  them, 
they  were  commended  by  a  fHend  to  Mr.  Dunbar's  Care. 
But  day  after  day  passed,  and  still  there  was  no  word  from 
him.  Then  came  a  letter  with  a  black  seal,  announcing 
his  sudden  death  I  They  were  among  strangers,  and 
almost  frantic  with  grief.  The  mother  was  a  delicate 
woman,  utterly  unable  to  buffet  with  the  waves  of  life. 
The  girls  were  young,  and  their  education  not  sufficiently 
advanced  to  be  available  as  a  means  of  support. 

With  that  consideration  for  which  he  was  so  peculiar, 
Mr.  Dunbar  saw  that  these  afflicted  ones  could  never  earn 
their  bread  cither  by  hard  labor  »r  by  the  wearing  work 
of  the  needle.  So,  with  the  aid  of  his  dear  friend  and  ready 
helper,  Rev.  Archibald  Maclay,  D.  D.,  he  found  a  few 
generous  men  who  joined  them  in  providing  for  the  pres- 
ent wants  of  the  family,  and  in  paying  for  the  best  musical 
instruction  for  the  eldest  daughter,  already  quite  a  profi- 
cient, that  she  might  be  able  to  teach.  Nor  did  the  work 
end  here  ;  all  that  sympathy,  advice,  and  religious  conso- 
lation could  do  for  them  was  done,  causing  the  heart  of 
the  desolate  to  sing  for  joy. 

At  one  time,  this  poor  woman  could  not  secure  a  house 
unless  some  one  became  responsible  for  her  rent.  She 
came  to  Mr.  Dunbar,  as  to  her  best  friend,  in  the  trial,  and 
he  cheerfully  gave  his  name  as  security  to  her  landlord. 
Some  one  suggested  that  he  was  not  sufficiently  cautious, 
as  it  was  very  loubtful  whether  she  could  ever  meet  the 
amount. 


THE  WIDOW  S  BENT. 


181 


"  I  cannot  help  that,"  he  replied.  "  It  may  be  as  you 
fear,  and  I  may  have  to  pay  her  rent,  in  addition  to  my 
own,  at  quarter-day.  In  that  case,  I  shall  just  look  to  the 
Father  of  the  fatherless,  and  the  Husband  of  the  widow, 
lie  will  take  care  of  her,  and  of  us,  too. 


'  We  hare  aye  been  provided  for, 
And  sae  will  be  yet.' " 


^^'  ^i* ,  J^" 


The  time  rolled  round,  and  the  rent  was  due.  The 
widow  came  in  great  trouble  to  say  that  it  was  entirely 
out  of  her  power  to  meet  the  demand.  She  was  not  in- 
sensible to  the  obligation  she  was  under,  and  wept  bitterly 
at  her  failure.  But  Mr.  Dunbar  comforted  her  by  telhng 
her  that  he  would  cheerfully  pay  the  amount,  and  that 
God,  who  knew  his  motives,  would  send  it  back  in  some 
way.  He  put  the  money  in  her  hand,  and  said,  "  If  you 
can  ever  pay  it,  you  may  do  so ;  if  not,  never  let  it  trou- 
ble you,  for  it  shall  not  trouble  me."  ;  .fJ;^,/T 

Very  soon  after  this,  Mr.  I.,  an  attendant  on  his 
preaching,  but  not  then  a  professor  of  religion,  called  at 
his  house.  He  said  pleasantly, "  I  came  to  pay  you  a  lit- 
tle money  I  owe  you,  Mr.  Dunbar."  ^  j^ 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  replied,  "  that  cannot  be ;  for  you 
and  I  have  never  had  9ny  dealings  together."  ^^ 

Mr.  I.  then  told  him  that  some  time  before,  he  had  sent 
out  a  small  venture  in  a  ship  going  to  China,  and  had  said 
to  Mrs.  I.,  at  the  time,  "  I  will  give  one  tenth  of  the 
profit,  if  there  is  any,  to  Mr.  Dunbar ; "  and  he  handed 
him  jiist  the  amoAnt  of  the  widovpB  rent ! 

Mr.  Dunbar  then  related  the  whole  circumstance,  and 

said,  "  You  see  how  easy  such  things  are  to  God.     The 

money  for  that  poor  widow's  rent  was  on  its  way  from 

China  when  I  advanced  it." 

Often,  when  warned  not  to  give  beyond  his  ability,  he 
1« 


would  nod  his  head,  and  say,  "  I  haven't  forgotten  ho^ 
Mrs.  O/s  rent  was  paid ; "  or, "  I  can't  spare  so  much 
very  well,  just  now ;  but  I'll  give  it,  and  the  Lord  will 
send  a  marriage-fee,  befcnre  long,  to  inake  it  good."  How 
much  those  fees  were  relied  on  for  works  of  mercy,  and 
how  much  good  they  accomplished,  will  never  be  known. 

Mr.  J.  N.,  long  a  beloved  friend  and  brother  in  hia 
church,  says :  "  When  I  was  a  young  man  and  a  clerk,  Mr. 
Dunbar  came  into  the  store  one  day ;  and  the  moment  I 
saw  his  face,  the  thought  struck  me,  *  I  must  give  Mr. 
Dunbar  something  to-day  for  his  poor  people.'  Not  having 
any  money  about  me,  I  went  downstairs  and  borrowed  a 
bill,  came  up  and  put  it  in  his  hand  without  a  word.  He 
looked  surprised,  and  said  :  '•  This  is  a  remarkable  answer 

to  prayer,  John  ;  for  I  wanted  just  this  sum  for ,  and 

had  been  asking  the  Lord  to  send  it  to  me.'  " 

A  minister,  who  in  his  youth  was  a  member  of  Mr. 
Dunbar's  church,  and  very  often  his  messenger  of  mercy 
to  the  homes  of  want,  writes :  • — 

**  To  show  his  strong  faith  in  God,  and  his  power  at  the 
throne  of  grace,  I  will  relate  an  incident  known  , to  me  at 
the  time.  -     "■*  ■-'' -^'■■--        .  =  ■./.-.         >,..    ,».    .. 

"  A  member  of  McDougal  Street  Church,  who  was  a 
widow,  kept  a  little  store  in  H.  street,  by  which  she  sup- 
ported two  or  three  little  ones.  One  day  she  came  to  Mr. 
Dunbar  in  great  distress.  Jt  was  the  winter  of  the  great 
fire  in  New  York,  when  all  business  was  at  a  stand.  She 
stated  that  a  creditor  had  just  called  and  demanded  a  pay- 
ment which  she  was  wholly  unable  to  make,  beoiuse,  ow- 
ing to  the  pressure,  she  could  not  sell  her  goods.  The 
man  was  greatly  enrs^ed,  said  he  was  tired  listening  to 
such  stories,  and  asked  her,  with  an  oath,  how  she  ex- 
pected him  to  meet  his  payments;  and  told  her  that  if 


FAITH   IN  GOD. 


183 


•*■  i.t\ 


Mhifo 


she  did  not  raise  the  money  by  ten  o'clock  the  next  day, 
he  would  seize  her  stock,  and  sell  it  at  auction.  And 
then  the  poor  woman  cried  out,  *  O  my  dear  pastor  I  what 
is  to  become  of  me  and  my  fatherless  children  ?  ' 

"  '  Would  you  have  means  to  pay  this  debt,  if  all  your 
goods  were  sold  ?  '  he  asked. 

"  '  Yes,  four  times  as  much.' 

"  *  I  am  sorry,  my  dear  sister,'  replied  the  pastor,  *  that 
I  have  not  the  amount,  or  I  would  pay  it  for  you.  I 
know  of  but  one  source  whence  you  can  get  help  in  this 
emergency.  I  will  send  you  to  a  rich  friend,  —  I  will  go 
with  you  to  him,  and  intercede  for  you  and  see  what  ht 
will  do  for  us.  Promise  to  go  at  eleven  o'clock  to-night 
to  the  throne  of  grace.  Do  you  kneel  in  your  closet,  and 
I  will  do  so  in  mine ;  and  we  will  then  spread  out  your 
troubles  before  our  Elder  Brother,  and  ask  him  to  man^ 
age  this  sad  business  for  us.'         '  , :-^^ :       '*  ri'"^ 

"Cheered  by  his  sympathy,  and  strengthened  by  his 
faith,  she  went  home.  At  the  appointed  hour,  she  awoke 
her  children,  and  explained  the  case  to  them  ;  and  then, 
as  if  to  touch  the  heart  of  Jesus  by  the  sight  of  her  de- 
fenceless lambs  beside  her,  she  took  them  with  her  to  her 
closet.  Drawii^  them  close  to  her  heart,  she  implored 
him  to  look  compassionately  on  them,  and  to  appear  for 
their  relief.  At  this  very  time,  fervent,  effectual  prayer 
was  ascending  to  the  *  Husband  of  the  widow,  and  the  Fa- 
ther of  the  fatherless,*  from  that  study  in  McDougal 
Street,  hallowed  by  the  frequent  presence  of  the  Saviour. 
No  doubt  there  were  cries  and  tears  and  pleadings  that 
would  take  no  denial. 

"The  mother,  after  much  prayer,  put  her  little  ones 
back  to  bed,  and  lay  down  calm  in  spirit,  wondering  in 
what  possible  way  God  would  appear  for  her  relief. 


.„u'/fiiil!iii^.V-:l„',._-„... 


184 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


t*  •*  Long  before  the  hour  named,  the  creditor  came  to 
the  door  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  Now  her  faith 
was  shaken ;  and  in  tremulous  tones  she  asked,  '  Why 
have  you  come  so  soon,  sir  ?  ' 

"  *  To  ask  your  forgiveness,  madam,  for  my  unfeeling 
conduct  last  evening.  Several  who  owed  me,  failed 
to  pay,  and  I  was  very  angry ;  but  I  did  not  close 
my  eyes  last  night.  Indeed,  I  never  had  such  feelings  be- 
fore. The  case  came  home  to  me  as  if  it  had  been  that  of 
my  own  wife  and  children.  I  would  rather  never  see  the 
money  than  to  pass  such  another  night.  Take  your  own 
time  to  pay  me.     I  shall  never  ask  you  for  it  again.'  " 

When  ''  Miiller's  Life  of  Trust "  was  first  published,  a 
daughter,  at  whose  house  Mr.  Dunbar  was  visiting,  gave 
him  a  copy  of  it.  Learning,  in  the  morning,  that  he  had 
set  up  nearly  all  night  to  read  it,  she  said,  "  It  is  a  veiy 
wonderful  book,  —  is  it  not,  father  ?  "  "  No,  my  dear,"  he 
replied  ;  "  not  very  wonderful.  It  only  proves  that  God 
is  as  good  as  his  word  ;  that  ho  answers  those  who  call  on 
him  in  faith.  I  have  had  a  great  many  as  direct  answei-s 
to  prayer  as  any  recorded  there  —  only  I  never  wrote  a 
book  about  them."  He  did  not  want  Christians  to  look 
on  such  cases  as  especial  miracles,  but  simply  as  a  fulfil- 
ment of  His  word. 

His  faith,  however,  was  sometimes  clouded  under  partic- 
ular discouragements  ;  but  God  always  dispelled  the  gloom, 
and  often  surprised  him  by  remarkable  tokens  of  his  grace. 
"  There  was  a  time,"  writes  a  minister,  who  was  then 
a  member  of  McDougal  Street,  "  when  for  months  there  had 
been  no  baptism  in  the  church,  and  he  became  much  disheart- 
ened ;  for  in  those  days  it  was  unusual  for  a  month  to  go  by 
without  hearing  the  songs  of  the  redeemed  among  them. 
He  took  this  barrenness  of  his  field  as  a  token  that  God  de- 


LETTER   FROM    DR.  PAULIN. 


185 


signed  to  send  him  elsewhere,  —  that  his  work  in  dear  Mo' 
Dougal  Street  was  ended.  He  had  appointed  his  usual  in- 
quiry meeting  several  months  in  succession,  but  not  one 
anxious  soul  had  come  to  it,  and  now  he  had  announced 
another,  and  told  me,  in  confidence,  that  he  had  laid  it  be- 
fore the  Lord,  telling  him  that  if  at  this  time  he  should  see 
no  evidence  of  his  work  being  blessed  to  sinners,  he  should 
consider  it  a  tolcen  from  Heaven  that  the  time  had  come 
for  him  to  seek  another  field.  I  was  greatly  cast  down  at 
the  thought  that  I  might  lose  my  beloved  pastor,  for  I 
knew  not  of  one  in  the  c- »n}5regation  concerned  for  his  ev- 
erlasting well-being.  During  the  afternoon,  I  went  down 
to  the  church  and  into  the  little  Bible-ci^ss  room  in  the 
basement,  and  there  alone  plead  with  God  that  he  would 
pour  out  his  Spirit  on  the  souls  of  the  people.  I  then 
opened  the  Bible,  which  lay  on  the  table  before  me,  and 
my  eye  fell  on  this  passage :  *  Wait  on  the  Lord  ;  be 
of  good  courage,  and  he  shall  strengthen  thy  heart ;  wait,  I 
say,  on  the  Lord.'  I  again  cast  myself  on  my  knees, 
and  poured  out  my  soul  in  supplication  for  a  blessing  on 
the  church.  It  was  one  of  the  sweetest  seasons  of  com- 
munion with  God,  I  ever  enjoyed.  I  then  went  home, 
and  returned  in  the  evening  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before 
the  appointed  time.  I  met  my  dear  pastor  at  the  front 
gate.  He  seemed  very  much  dejected,  and  asked  me  if  I 
would  go  in  and  sit  down  with  him  a  little  while.  *  I 
told  Mrs.  Dunbar,'  he  said,  *  that  if  any  one  called,  to  say 
I  should  probably  return  in  half  an  hour,  for  I  don't  think 
there'll  be  any  one  here."  We  passed  in  together,  and 
when  we  reached  the  door  of  the  little  room,  1  tried  to 
open  it,  but  there  was  some  obstacle  on  the  inside.  Then 
we  heard  «  rustling  and  moving  within,  a  seat  was  drawn 
from  the  door,  so  as  to  allow  it  to  open  half  way,  and  we 


*  iim 


DUNCAN   DUNBAB. 


entered.  The  sight  that  met  our  eyes,  I  shall  never  for- 
get I  The  room  was  full  as  it  could  be  packed  with  poor, 
anxious  souls,  each  of  whom  had  come  to  ask  *  What  shall 
I  do  to  be  saved  ? '  They  were  sobbing  and  weeping  to- 
gether. In  a  moment,  the  astonished  pastor  was  on  his 
knees,  and  such  a  prayer  I  never  heard  —  such  weeping  I 
never  witnessed.  Within  a  few  weeks  sixty-eight  were 
added  to  the  church  by  baptism,  nearly  all  of  whom  have 
worn  well,  while  many  of  them  are  now  among  the  most 
useful  o{  the  members  of  McDougal  Street  Church." 

">*  atreoing  time  it  shall  be  light." 


U^ 


h 


■^:4ii^r':.i>i^%  «f?/'?i= 


.Ste>' 


■*<'$KiA,y  Sft-r 


■«  v:riJ- 


r  r 


CHAPTER  XX. 


OhanetenstlM  of  hii  Pnaobtng — A  Sleeping  Ohiiatian  Awakened — Style  and  MamMf  - 
TmOmmty  of  a  Gifted  Mtaul— OultiTation  of  Famlly-Veellng  in  the  Ohurob— A 
,  Dream  —  A  Word  In  Season  —  Helping  Weary  Pastors  —  Letter  teom  a  Young  Min- 
later  —  Letter  to  the  Association  —  Bstablishee  a  WeAly  Baptist  Newspaper  in  New 
York— Deep  Interest  in  Missions  —  Succeuftil  Plan  to  Bemore  the  Debt  of  the 
Amerioan  Baptist  Missionary  Union  —Letter  ttom  the  Secretary. 


m  the  earlier  years  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  ministry  his 
preaching  was  preeminently  of  an  awakening  charac- 
ter. He  had  a  sacred  passion  for  souls,  and  felt  a 
peculiar  interest  in  the  spiritual  welfare  ^of  those 
whom  others  neglected.  While  residing  in  New 
Brunswick,  his  heart  was  deeply  affected  in  view  of  the 
religious  destitution  which  so  ext^isively  prevailed  in  that 
region,  and,  in  addition  to  his  pastoral  labors,  he  performed 
much  missionary  work,  particularly  among  the  Indians  and 
colored  people.  He  loved  to  preach  the  gospel  to  the  poor. 
When  he  came  to  the  United  States,  his  heart  was  much 
drawn  out  toward  feeble  churches  which  were  in  a  back- 
slidden and  discouraged  state,  and  he  readily  yielded  to 
their  invitation  to  visit  them.  He  sought  to  arouse  them 
to  a  sense  of  their  sad  condition,  and  to  a  renewal  of  their 
covenant  with  Christ ;  and,  in  connection  with  this,  he 
made  powerful  appeals  to  the  impenitent,  which  resulted 
in  extensive  revivals.  Hundreds  of  souls,  during  this 
early  part  of  his  ministry  in  New  Brunswick,  Maine,  and 
New  Hampshire,  and  elsewhere,  were  brought  to  Christ, 
and  the  churches  which  he  served  were  established  in  tb* 
faith. 

(187) 


188 


DUNCAN   DXJNBAR. 


f     * 

lit 


Aftei*ward,  during  his  more  permanent  settlement  in 
New  York,  and  his  ministry  at  brief  intervals,  in  Boston, 
Philadelphia,  and  Trenton,  his  preaching  was  more  doc- 
trinal, though  scarcely  less  awakening,  or  less  successfu 
in  the  conversion  of  sinners.  ,>; 

He  loved  to  dwell  upon  the  doctrines  of  grace.  Indeed, 
they  formed  the  staple  of  his  discourse,  as  they  were,  to  use 
the  language  of  an  intimate  friend,  "  the  food,  the  strength, 
the  comfort  of  his  soul  to  the  last  feeble  breath  he 
drew  in  the  body,  when  he  faintly  but  distinctly  uttered 
the   words,  "  I    have  called  thee  by  thy  name ;  thou  art 


mme. 


>> 


No  hearer  could  ever  mistake  his  theological  views. 
They  were  strongly  held,  and  clearly  stated.  The 
moral  de£>ravity  and  helplessness  of  man,  and  his  supreme 
dependence  upon  the  sovereign  grace  of  God  ;  the  eternal 
election  of  a  peculiar  people,  who  had  been  given  to  tlie 
Son  to  be  redeemed  by  his  blood  and  justified  by  his  right- 
eousness, as  their  covenant-head,  the  second  Adam;  thf 
special  and  irresistible  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the 
enlightenment  and  regeneration  of  the  predestined  heirs 
of  glory,  whereby  faith  in  Christ,  as  a  vicarious  sacrifice, 
is  begotten  in  them  unto  sanctification  and  salvation ;  the 
deity  of  the  Son  and  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  equally  with  the 
Father ;  —  these  doctrines,  which  he  believed  to  be  positive- 
ly and  plainly  revealed  in  the  word  of  God,  —  his  only 
standard  of  faith,  —  were  constantly  exhibited,  and  with 
an  earnestness  which  proved  how  deep  a  place  they  had 
in  his  heart,  and  with  what  sacred  jealousy  he  would 
guard  them  from  the  assaults  of  error. 

Mr.  Dunbar's  preaching  was  "  emphatically  experiment- 
al." Doctrine  and  experience  were  happily  combined. 
"  He  delighted,"  writes  one  who  long  enjoyed  his  ministry, 


A  SLEEPING  CHRISTIAN  AWAKENED. 


189 


"  in  comforting  the  mourner,  in  exposing  the  peculiar 
temptations  to  which  the  young  convert  is  liable,  and  in 
bringing  to  the  light  of  divine  truth  the  mistakes  he  is 
inclined  to  make  in  judging  of  his  own  exercises.  With 
great  skill  he  drew  the  line  between  the  work  of  the  Spirit 
of  God  in  conversion  and  the  natural  promptings  of  the 
human  heart,  and  never  failed  to  impress  the  conviction 
that  nothing  short  of  divine  power  could  make  us  Chris- 
tians." j    ~v , , ,  .    i,-j!i.«  •• 

His  pungent  conviction  of  sin  in  early  life,  and  subse- 
quent severe  spiritual  trials,  which  led  to  deep  self-exami- 
nation and  prayer,  gave  him  a  singular  insight  into  the 
human  heart,  tlie  wiles  of  Satan,  and  the  work  of  the  Spir- 
it, so  that  he  was  a  true  comforter  and  wise  counsellor  to 
troubled  souls.  There  was  often  great  power  in  his  fervent 
appeals  and  expostulations. 

One  evening,  a  lady  who  was  visiting  her  son  in  New 
York,  —  a  clergyman  of  another  denomination, —  attended 
a  Wednesday-evening  lecture,  with  a  friend  who  was  a 
member  of  the  McDougal  Street  Church.  She  was  a  pro- 
fessor of  religion  and  doubtless  a  Christian,  but,  like  many, 
living  too  much  out  of  sight  of  the  cross. 

The  text  for  the  evening  was,  "  0  Israel,  thou  hast  de- 
stroyed thyself ;  but  in  me  is  thy  help."  The  sins  of 
backsliding  Christians  were  portrayed  in  a  vivid  manner, 
particularly  their  ingratitude  toward  God,  and  their  put- 
ting Jesus  to  shame  after  all  his  condescension  and  love  in 
dying  for  them.  The  heart  of  this  stranger  was  pierced 
as  with  an  arrow.  She  went  back  to  her  son's  house,  but 
not  to  sleep  ;  God  was  dealing  with  her.  She  struggled 
with  her  feelings  as  long  as  she  could,  and  strove  to  pray, 
but  in  vain  ;  the  ear  of  Heaven  seemed  shut  against  her 
cry.    At  length  she  felt  this  burden  too  heavy  to  bear 


190 


IrtlNCAN  DUNBAB. 


,'• 


atone,  and  aronded  her  son  from  his  sleep  to  tell  him  of  the 
informal  lecture  she  had  heard,  and  to  cry,  **  I  have  de- 
stroyed myself*" 

The  young  man  tried  to  soothe  her,  and  prayed  In  her 
hearing ;  but  he,  perchance,  did  not  understand  the  case. 
In  such  agony  was  she,  that  he  was  glad,  in  the  dead  of 
night,  to  call  in  a  wiser  physician.  Mr.  Dunbar  was  sent 
for,  and  came  with  the  balm  of  Gilead  to  bind  up  the 
wounded  spirit,  and  to  point  the  backslider  to  the  last 
clause  of  his  text,  **  in  me  is  thy  help."  He  held  up  the 
Saviour,  in  whom  she  had  once  trusted,  as  able  to  forgive 
to-day  as  he  was  ten  or  twenty  years  ago. 

Thus  much  is  remembered ;  the  life  of  the  stranger 
thereafter  is  not  known ;  but,  we  doubt  not,  hers  was  a  sec- 
ond and  more  entire  consecration  to  Him  from  whom  she  had 
wandered  while  bearing  his  name  and  wearing  his  badge. 

Says  an  intimate  friend  of  Mr.  Dunbar :  "  He  was  a 
practical  believer  in  predestination,  referring  all  current 
events,  and  all  that  have  come  to  pass  since  the  foundation 
of  the  world,  to  the  eternal  purpose  of  Him  who  '  work- 
oth  all  things  according  to  the  counsel  of  his  own  will.' " 

This  was  a  strong  point  in  his  ministry,  and  made  him 
so  effectual  a  "  succorer  to  many "  afflicted  Christians. 
Their  trials,  he  told  them,  were  embraced  in  the  divine 
purposes  concerning  them,  and,  so  far  from  separating 
them  from  the  love  of  God,  were  the  revealed  evidences 
of  their  adoption,  the  means  of  their  spiritual  disci- 
pline, and  the  pledge  of  their  final  victory.  **  All  things 
work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God,  and  are 
the  called  according  to  his  purpose." 

His  strong  belief  in  predestination  did  not  make  him 
antinomian  in  his  preaching  or  his  conduct.  "  While," 
writes  one  of  his  friends.  Deacon  John  J.  Griffiths,  "  he 


STTLE  AND  MANNiat. 


191 


alwajs  held  firmly  the  great  doctrines  ai  the  gospel,  sover- 
eign grace  and  the  eternal  love  of  God  to  his  chosen  peo* 
pie,  he  loved  to  urge  the  practical  effect  of  belief  in  these 
truths,  purity  of  heart  and  holiness  of  life."  It  was  his 
constant  practice  to  discourse,  with  earnest  particularity, 
upon  the  various  duties  of  the  Christian  life,  zealously  re- 
buking sin,  at  times  with  the  utmost  severity,  as  displea»' 
ing  to  the  gracious  S{»rit,  and  setting  an  eminent  example 
of  what  he  preached.  He  was  an  truest  worker  himself, 
and  urged  diligence  and  activity  as  a  Christian  duty.  He 
preached  and  labored  unweariedly,  seeking  to  "  pull  men 
out  of  the  fire,"  improving  opportunities  which  many  would 
have  neglected,  and,  in  every  possible  way,  doing  good  to 
his  fellow-creatures.  If  the  doctrine  is  proved  by  the  life, 
then  was  he  sound  in  the  faith ;  for,  *''  in  season  and  out 
of  season,"  he  served  his  divine  Master,  as  a  child  rather 
than  as  a  servant.  He  loved  to  preach  Christ  and  to  fol- 
low Christ. 

His  style  and  manner,  as  a  preacher,  were  all  his  own, 
calculated  to  command  attention  even  where  his  doctrines 
were  unwelcome.  He  was  original,  natural,  easiest,  and 
persuasive.  As  a  sermonizer,  he  did  not  follow  scholastic 
rules,  but  the  bent  of  his  own  genius  j  and  yet  his  discourses, 
though  not  uniformly  systematic  in  the  point  of  formal 
divisions,  by  no  means  lucked  the  essential  qualities  of 
unity.  He  always  had  a  distinct  aim  in  view,  even  when 
he  seemed,  at  times,  to  wander  from  it  to  follow  out  some 
tempting  train  of  thought  Suggested  at  the  moment. 
Seldom  or  never  did  he  write  out  a  sermon  in  full,  —  a 
written  discourse  hampered  him,  — but  he  generally  pre* 
pared  a  full  skeleton,  which  he  had  no  difficulty  in  filling 
up,  even  beyond  the  allotted  hour.  He  abounded  in  happy 
illustrations,  which  gave  interest  and  profit  to  his  doctrine. 


192 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


We  are  permi^ed  to  record  the  impression  made  upon  a 
gifted  and  cultured  mind  by  his  conversation  and  preach- 
ing. The  writer,  a  distinguished  literary  friend,  and 'con- 
nected with  a  religious  denomination  widely  differing  from 
his  own,  says :  —       . , ,;5,- ..  >.,:^^:,,,,,j^. 

"  I  went  to  hear  him,  at  South  Boston,  when  he  firat 
went  there,  my  Aunt  P.  having  spoken  of  him  as  her 
minister.  I  heard  from  him  a  most  extraordinary  sermon, 
from  the  text,  *  Awake  thou  that  sleepest,'  which  he  made 
to  be  the  voice  of  the  Bridegroom  to  a  sleeping  church. 
It  was  a  flood  of  fervent  poetry,  —  which  is  the  natural 
language  of  spiritual  revelation  in  our  age  no  less  than 
in  the  old  Hebrew  times,  —  enough  to  '  create  a  soul  un- 
der the  ribs  of  death  ;  *  and  it  did  awake  that  church,  at 
least  for  a  season.  I  went  frequently  to  hear  him  ;  and  I 
never  heard  anybody  approach  him  in  the  power  he  had 
of  making  the  Old  Testament  history  speak  the  everlast- 
ing truths  that  make  the  spiritual  life.  A  sermon  on  Ja- 
cob's refusal  to  part  with  Benjamin  touched  into  life  the 
soul  of  a  person  who  went  with  me  in  a  more  defiant 
mood  than  I  ever  knew  any  other,  and  who  abused  me, 
all  the  way  home,  for  going  to  hear  such  preaching.  But 
long  afterward,  when,  broken  a  good  deal  by  afflictions,  I 
was  trying  to  lead  her  into  true  relations  with  God,  I  was 
struck  with  her  exclaiming,  *  I  cannot  let  Benjamin  go  !  * 
which  proved  that,  in  spite  of  herself,  the  voice  of  the 
preacher  had  reached  her  heart. 

"  It  was  a  great  trial  to  me,  at  the  time,  that  I  could  not 
get  over  to  South  Boston,  to  hear  him  read  and  comment 
upon  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  to  his  church,  which  he  did 
in  the  evening  ;  and  I  have  regretted  always  since  that  I 
did  not  make  desperate  efforts,  and  overcome  all  obstacles 
to  it. 


SUCCESS  OF  mS  MINISTRY. 


183 


**•  Mr.  Dunbar  was  a  most  remarkable  person  to  me.  He 
gave  me  a  new  idea  of  a  Highlander.  He  seemed  to  me 
an  improvisatore,  an  oriental  soul,  an  organ  of  the  Spirit ; 
as  if  he  had  found  a  storehouse  of  jewels,  in  which  he  ran 
riot,  and  with  a  fervor  of  love  would  have  poured  them 
out  over  all  with  whom  he  was  brought  into  contact. 

"  I  am  very  glad  if  he  counted  me  as  a  iriend  ;  for  I 
did  not  know  that  he  ever  realized  how  much  he  was  to 
me  at  a  certain  stage  of  my  experience  ;  for  we  hardly 
had  a  common  language,  my  own  intellectual  environment 
was  so  different." 

But,  beyond  all  natural  advantages,  Mr.  Dunbar's  power 
as  a  preacher  lay  in  his  strong  faith  and  fervent  piety. 
He  was  preeminently  a  man  of  prayer.  He  believed  in 
prayer  as  an  appointed  means  of  securing  the  divine  bless- 
ing. To  him  it  was  a  most  real  thing  to  draw  near  to 
God. 

Mr.  Dunbar's  entire  ministry  was  greatly  honored  of 
God,  resulting  in  the  conversion  of  large  numbers,  proba- 
bly from  twelve  to  fifteen  hundred,  in  the  various  places 
where  he  toiled.  These  results  were  almost  entirelv 
the  fruits  of  his  own  labors,  in  connection  with  the  pray- 
ers and  efforts  of  his  lay  brethren.  He  had  a  noble  confi- 
dence in  God  and  God's  truth,  and  never  played  upon  the 
feelings  of  men  by  attempts  to  "  get  up  revivals."  He 
was  perfectly  honest  before  God  with  his  own  soul  and 
the  souls  of  others.  ?. 

While  thus  laborious  in  his  own  field,  he  always  wel- 
comed the  assistance  of  brother  ministers  during  a  season 
of  special  awakening.  And  so  he  was  ever  ready  to  re- 
spond to  a  call  from  a  neighboring  pastor ;  and  many 
are  the  brethren  who  will  remember  with  gratitude  to 
God  his  fraternal  aid,  at  times  when  abundant  labor  had 

17 


194 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


vreakened  their  own  hands.  He  came  in  **  the  fuhiess  of 
the  blessing  of  the  gospel  of  Christ,"  to  assist,  uphold, 
and  strengthen  the  pastor. 

Sometime  before  his  removal  to  New  York,  he  visited 
Boston,  in  response  to  the  earnest  request  of  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Sharp  that  he  would  assist  him  during  a  season  of  revi- 
val in  the  Charles  Street  Church.  He  gladly  accepted  the 
invitation,  and,  for  several  weeks,  labored  incessantly  and 
to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the  friends  of  Christ  in  Boston. 
We  find  among  his  correspondence  letters  from  Dr.  Sharp, 
Dea,  Lothrop,  Levi  Farwell,  and  other  good  men  gone  to 
their  reward,  showing  how  his  labors  and  his  spirit  were 
appreciated  in  Boston  in  that  day. 

The  writer  can  never  forget  how  his  own  heart  was  en- 
couraged, and  the  work  of  God,  then  in  progress  in  his 
church  in  Bangor,  Me.,  was  helped  forward  by  the  com- 
ing, a  distance  of  hundreds  of  miles,  of  this  dear  servant 
of  Christ.  He  remained  several  weeks  preaching  and 
conversing  from  house  to  house,  with  great  fervor  and 
success. 

^  This  practice  of  mutual  assistance  among  neighboring 
pastors  was  more  common  among  the  "  fathers  "  than,  we 
fear,  it  is  in  our  day  ;  and  it  would  be  greatly  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  ministers  and  churches  could  it  be  revived. 

Mr.  Dunbar  had  a  great  affection  for  good  ministers 
of  Christ,  and  was  especially  tender  and  considerate  in 
his  intercourse  with  those  who  were  troubled  because  of 
"  false  brethren."  He  entered  at  once  into  their  case, 
and  made  it,  as  far  as  possible,  his  own.  The  language 
of  Paul  he  might  have  taken  to  himself:  "  Who  is  weak, 
and  I  am  not  weak  ?  Who  is  offended,  and  I  bum  not  ?  " 
He  often  said,  "  There  is  too  little  brotherly  love  among 


THE  MILLER  STOBT. 


195 


Christians  and  Christian  ministers  in  our  day  ;  too  much 
self-seeking  ;  too  little  bearing  one  another's  burdens."   ''  ' 

He  felt  great  sympathy  with  his  ministering  brethren 
in  their  pecuniary  troubles,  and  was  also  pained  for  the 
churches  on  that  account.  He  knew  that  a  man,  whose 
days  and  nights  were  spent  in  planning  and  contriving  to 
make  a  small  income  meet  large  expenses,  could  not  give 
his  whole  soul  to  the  great  work  of  the  ministry.  He 
felt  this  policy  to  be  "  penny  wise  and  pound  foolish," 
and  believed  it  better  for  churches  that  could  say  before 
God,  '*  We  have  done  our  utmost,"  to  call  on  their  richer 
brethren  for  aid,  than  to  muzzle  the  ox  that  was  treading 
out  their  corn.  He  believed  that  in  very  rare  cases  did 
God  bring  together  so  much  absolute  poverty  in  one 
church  that  a  little  more  sacrifice  could  not  be  made  for 
the  comfort  of  the  pastor  and  the  honor  of  the  cause ; 
and  in  these  few  cases  he  was  always  willing  to  help. 
But  how  many  times  was  his  soul  vexed  by  applications, 
from  places  where  every  man  owned  his  farm  and  stock, 
to  his  and  other  city  churches,  where,  perhaps,  the  great 
majority  never  dreamed  of  possessing  even  a  home  I  To 
such  applicants  he  always  told  the  "  Miller  story,"  advis- 
ing them  to  go  home  and  tri/  once  more  what  they  could 
do  among  themselves. 

A  worthy  miller  —  we  know  not  the  origin  of  the  tale 
—  was  once  pained  by  hearing  that  the  minister  was  go- 
ing away  for  want  of  support,  the  church  having  decided 
they  could  no  longer  raise  his  salary.  He  called  a  meet- 
ing, and  addressed  his  brethren  very  modestly,  for  he  was 
one  of  the  poorest  among  these  comfortable  farmers.  He 
asked  if  want  of  money  were  the  only  reason  for  this 
change,  and  if  all  were  united  in  desiring  the  services  of 
the  pastor,  could  they  still  keep  him.      There  was  but  one 


196 


Z>UMGAN  DUNBAB. 


( 

i 


voice  in  the  reply.  The  pastor  was  useful  and  beloved ; 
but  the  flock  were  so  poor  I  '«vi;'* 

-.  "  Well,"  replied  the  miller,  "  I  have  a  plan  by  which  I 
can  raise  his  salary  without  asking  one  of  you  for  a  dol- 
lar, if  you  will  allow  me  to  take  my  own  way  to  do  it. 
I  will  assume  the  responsibility  for  one  year.  Have  I 
your  consent  ?  " 

— Of  course  they  could  not  re^se  this ;  although  they 
expressed  surprise,  knowing  the  miller  to  be  but  a  youi 
man. 

The  year  drew  to  a  close.  The  minister  had  been 
blessed  in  his  labors,  and  no  one  had  been  called  on  for 
money.  When  they  came  together,  the  miller  asked  the 
pastor  if  his  wants  had  been  supplied  and  his  salary 
promptly  met?  He  replied  in  the  affirmative.  When 
the  brethren  were  asked  if  they  were  any  poorer  than  at 
the  beginning  of  tli3  year,  each  one  replied,  **  No,"  and 
asked  how  they  could  be,  when  tlieir  church  privileges 
had  been  so  mysteriously  paid  for.  He  asked  again :  *'  Is 
any  man  here  any  poorer  for  keeping  the  minister  ?  "  and 
the  reply  was  the  same  as  before.  "  Then,"  he  said, 
"  brethren,  I  have  only  to  tell  you  that  you  have  paid  the 
salary  the  same  as  you  always  did,  only  more  of  it  and 
with  greater  promptness.  You  remember  you  gave  me 
permission  to  take  my  own  way  in  '^hh  matter ;  and  I 
have  done  so.  As  each  one  of  you  br'  uob'  '-  jurist  to  ."\ 
I  took  out  as  much  grain  as  I  thought  j  t^r  pioportion,  and 
laid  it  away  for  the  salary.  When  harvest  was  over,  I 
sold  it,  and  have  paid  the  minister  regularly  from  the  pro- 
ceeds. You  confess  that  you  are  no  poorer ;  so  you 
^  ^.^er  missed  it,  and  therefore  made  no  personal  sacrifice. 
W^w  I  propose  that  we  stop  talking  about  poverty,  and 
about  letting  our  minister  go,  and  add  enough  to  his  sala- 


LETTER  FROM    A    MINISTER. 


197 


ilJ 


ry  to  make  us  feel  that  we  fl^'^  doing  something."  Mr. 
Danbar  used  to  say,  with  a  sigh,  "  Oh  for  a  miller  in 
every  church  ! " 

A  young  grand-daughter,  who  was  visiting  him  a  few 
years  since,  answered  several  letters  for  him  one  day 
,vhen  he  was  indisposed.  One  of  these  was  from  a  minis- 
::'  in  the  state  of  New  York,  a  perfect  stranger  to  Mr, 
Dunbar,  asking  concerning  some  field  of  labor,  he  being 
about  to  leave  the  place  where  he  then  was.  The  reply 
returned  was,  as  the  writer  tells  us :  "  There  are  many 
places  where  good  ministers  are  needed ;  but  you  should 
be  on  the  ground  to  know  of  them.  Come  to  the  city  at 
once.  I  have  now  no  home  to  ask  you  to  ;  t)ut  come 
where  I  am  boarding,  and  I  will  introduce  you  to  breth- 
ren here.  Tell  your  good  wife  not  to  get  disheartened  ; 
and  say  from  me  that  unless  you  are  richer  than  your 
ministering  brethren  in  general,  you  are  to  leave  the 
purse  and  whatever  is  in  it  at  home  with  her.  Tell  her 
from  me  that  there  is  a  bank  in  New  York  city,  on 
which  ministers  of  Christ  can  always  dmw  in  time  of 
need!"  -      - 

How  many  men,  who  have  become  poor  for  Christ's 
sake,  will  remember  the  sunshine  which  some  such  letter 
from  his  hand,  or  a  like  encouraging  word  from  his  lip,  had 
brought  to  them  in  a  dark  and  gloomy  day  !  He  bore,  as 
far  as  he  knew  them,  the  burdens  of  all  these  on  his  own 
heart,  and  so  fulfilled  the  law  of  Christ. 

Mr.  Dunbar  felt  a  special  interest  in  young  ministers  ; 
and  while  they  shared,  as  many  of  them  did,  his  unstinted 
hospitality,  he  spread  before  them  the  richer  dainties  of 
free,  severoign,  distinguishing  grace,  the  conversation 
often  extending  far  into  the  night. 

*'  I   find   it  very  pleasant,"  writes  one  who  was  thus 

17* 


198 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


favored,  "  to  recall  those  many  talks  with  which  he  fevored 
me,  and  in  which  his  deep  experience  welled  out  so  richly 
and  instructively.  No  one  that  knew  him  could  doubt 
that  he  was  experimentally  acquainted  with  Jesus,  and 
hved  in  close  communion  with  him.  With  what  hallowed 
ardor  would  he  extol  the  riches  of  free  and  sovereign  grace  I 
There  were  points  on  which  we  did  not  agree ;  but  I  al- 
ways admired  the  warmth  of  zeal  for  truth  with  which  he 
sought  to  bring  me  up  to  the  full  measure  of  what  he  con- 
sidered orthodoxy.  There  was  always  an  unction,  charac- 
teristic of  those  talks,  that  refreshed  like  the  dew  of  morn- 
ing, and  made  me  greatly  revere  and  love  him.  Religion 
was  ever  his  favorite  theme,  and  particularly  experimental 
religion  ;  but  to  him  the  doctrinal  was  scarcely  distinguish- 
able from  the  experimental,  so  thoroughly  were  the  great 
truths  of  the  gospel  the  aliment  of  his  inner  life  and  his  in- 
spiration to  action.  That  genial  flow  of  humor,  and  that 
quaintness  which  provoked  a  smile  every  now  and  then,  in 
his  most  religious  discourses,  whether  in  the  parlor  or  in 
the  pulpit,  did  not  interfere  with  the  moral  impression,  and 
was  an  attractive  feature  and  kept  alive  the  interest." 

Mr.  Dunbar's  views  of  doctrine,  and  his  earnest  zeal  in 
their  defence,  appear  in  the  following  Annual  Letter  to  the 
Association :  — 


"Beloved  Brethren  in  Christ, —  When,  in  the 
providence  of  God,  Baptist  churches  became  sufficiently 
numerous  in  this  western  hemisphere  to  admit  of  tlieir 
forming  distinct  associations,  it  was  regarded  as  a  matter 
of  sacred,  importance,  that  each  cimrch  uniting  in  sucli 
a  social  ecclesiastical  compact  should  entertain  and  avow 
the  same  views  of  the  character .  and  government  of 
God  i  his  sovereign,  distinguishing  grace  in  the  redemption 


LETTER  to  THE  ASSOCIATION. 


199 


md  complete  salvation  of  his  chosen  people ;  the  nature, 
design,  and  extent  of  the  atonement  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ ;  the  total  depravity  of  human  nature ;  the  invinci- 
hle  operations  of  the  Holy  Spirit  upon  the  souls  of  elect 
sinners ;  and  the  certain  glorification  of  the  *  church  of  God, 
which  he  hath  purchased  with  his  own  blood.*  In  those 
days,  care  was  taken  to  dehne,  by  printed  associational 
articles  of  faith,  the  glorious  fimdamental  doctrines  of  the 
word  of  God,  and  the  holy  tendency  of  those  doctrines, 
when  cordially  believed  and  experimentally  felt,  to  pro- 
mote the  joy  and  hope  of  regenerated  souls,  and  to  pro^ve 
the  fruits  of  that  holineas^  without  which  no  man  shall  see 
the  Lord.  Presuming,  dear  brethren,  that  Jehovali's  re- 
vealed method  of  saving  lost  sinners,  and  the  moral  quali- 
ties of  right  and  wrong  in  matters  of  faith  and  practice, 
could  not  change  their  character  with  the  lapse  of  time,  this 
church  has,  in  its  annual  epistle  to  your  respected  body, 
for  a  succession  of  years,  solemnly  and  affectionately  ex- 
pressed a  fear  lest  restless  philosophical  speculations,  popu- 
lar, ever-changing  religious  theories,  or  a  conformity  to 
applauded  customs,  should  tempt  the  churches  of  this  Asso- 
ciation to  depart  from  the  truth  of  God,  as  revealed  in  the 
Holy  Scriptures.  In  our  letter  to  you,  of  1837,  we  frankly 
stated  the  apprehension  we  then  cherished,  that  a  growing 
(lisreiish  of  Bible  sentiments  and  Bible  morality  was  mani- 
festing itself  in  certain  portions  of  our  beloved  denomina- 
tion  The  faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints  is  not 

considered  by  many  of  sufficient  importance  to  be  con- 
tended for  or  vindicated.  The  simple  avowal  of  a  few 
general  articles  of  our  Baptist  faith  is,  in  many  places,  a 
sufficient  passport  into  the  fellowship  and  sisterhood  of 
associated  churches.  Other  cardinal  truths,  involving  the 
sovereignty  and  veracity  of  Jehovah,  the  covenanted  sub- 


200 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


II 


stitution  and  sacrifice  of  the  blessed  Redeemer,  and  the 
glory  of  his  cross,  may  be  embraced  or  repudiated  at  dis- 
cretion, without  any  breach  of  fellowship.  And  in  regard 
to  the  obligation  which,  by  the  moral  law  of  God,  we  owe 
to  our  fellow-creatures,  we  fear  that  the  departure  from 
Bible  morali  ty  is  no  less  alarming.  For  instance :  the  poor 
laborer  may  be  robbed  of  his  wages,  his  person  and  family 
subjected  to  unmitigated  bondage  and  oppression,  and  his 
immortal  mind  forbidden  to  feed  upon  the  precious  pastures 
of  divine  revelation  ;  all  these  injuries  may  be  tyrannically 
practised  upon  the  humble,  defenceless  disciples  of  the  mer- 
ciful Son  of  God,  by  members  of  the  same  church,  and 
ministers  of  the  gospel  of  peace ;  and  yet  such  members 
and  ministers  are  regarded  as  proper  objects  of  Cliris- 
tian  fellowship^  sympathy^  and  respect ;  while  the  tears  and 
groans  of  their  unliappy  victims  are  unheeded^  and  those 
who  plead  their  cause  are  viewed  with  suspicion  and  often 
treated  with  contempt.  These,  dear  brethren,  are  some  of  the 
abuses,  in  principle  and  practice,  now  tolerated  in  our  de- 
nomination, which  justly  grieve  and  alarm  us,  in  view  of 
the  justice  of  Zion's  God,  and  the  retributions  of  a  judg- 
ment to  come. 

"  We  desire,  however,  to  unite  with  you  in  praying  for 
the  purity,  the  peace,  and  the  prosperity  of  the  churches 
of  Christ,  throughout  our  land  and  the  world." 


i 


Tn  laboring  for  the  purity  of  doctrine  and  practice  of  his 
church  in  New  York,  ever  so  dear  to  him,  Mr.  Dunbar 
relied  much  upon  the  cooperation  of  his  deacons,  snnonii 
whom  were  men  of  great  wortli  and  solidity  of  judtiinent. 
One  of  them,  Deacon  J.  J.  Grifiith.s,  writes  as  follows :  — 

'*  Mr.  Dunbar  had  the  interests  of  this  branch  of  Zioii 
very  near  to  his  heart,  as  his  frequent  private  and  ofiiciul 


BAPTIST  NEWSPAPER. 


201 


meetings  with  his  deacons  testify.  He  loved  them,  and  re- 
lied on  their  judgment,  and  they  depended  very  much  on  his 
advice  and  expeiience.  They  were  all  united  in  him,  and 
during  a  period  of  ten  years,  at  the  frequent  official  inter- 
views when  the  interests  of  the  church  were  spoken  of, 
there  was  an  entire  unanimity  of  feeling  and  of  action  be- 
tween him  and  them." 

In  reviewing  Mi*.  Dunbar's  ministry  of  nearly  half  a 
century,  the  genuine  affection  which  always  existed  be- 
tween him  and  the  churches  he  served  is  worthy  of  note. 
To  three  of  these  he  was  called  three  times,  and  by  all 
was  ever  welcomed  as  a  beloved  friend  and  minister  of 
Christ.       M    f  .  .  ,  ,  .  ri    -> 

.  Mr.  Dunbar's  z^l  for  the  defence  and  spread  of  God's 
truth  in  its  purity  and  fulness,  and  his  desire  for  the  prog- 
ress of  his  own  denomination,  led  him,  soon  afler  going 
to  New  York,  to  encourage  the  commencement  of  a 
weekly  newspaper,  which  he  himself  edited  gratuitously, 
—  "  The  Baptist  Repository,"  published  by  Mr.  E.  Tripp. 
It  has  since  passed  through  many  hands,  and  borne  many 
names,  the  New  York  Baptists  having  never  from  that 
time  been  without  a  denominational  paper. 

To  what  has  been  said  of  Mr.  Dunbar  as  a  minister  of 
Christ,  it  should  be  added  that  he  was  deeply  interested 
in  the  extension  of  evangelical  truth  in  the  world.  He 
was  an  early  and  a  fast  friend  of  the  American  and  For- 
eign Bible  Society,  and  was  for  many  years  a  member  of 
its  board  of  managers. 

He  was  an  active  and  liberal  supporter  of  Foreign  Mis- 
sions, and  deeply  interested  in  the  work  of  the  Missionary 
Union.  His  anti-slavery  spirit  had  been  sorely  tried,  dur- 
ing the  days  of  the  Triennial  Convention,  by  the  union 
of  Northern  and  Southern  churches,  but  he  hoped  the  day 


202 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


of  separation  would  come  ;  and  none  rejoiced  more  than 
he  in  the  triumph  of  principle  over  policy,  in  the  forma- 
tion of  the  American  Baptist  Missionary  Union,  —  a  frea 
organization  for  the  spread  of  a  free  gospel.     .... 

When  the  debt  of  $36,000  lay  as  a  hea^'y  burden  upon 
the  Union,  his  heart  was  distressed  at  the  crippled  influ- 
ence of  the  society,  and  the  dishonor  cast  on  God  ;  and  it 
was  at  his  suggestion  that  the  plan  was  adopted  which 
proved  so  successful  in  the  liquidation  of  the  debt. 

One  morning,  early  in  February,  1859,  the  correspond- 
ing secretary  of  the  Union,  being  then  in  New  York, 
called  at  Mr.  Dunbar's  house ;  after  the  usual  courtesies, 
Mr.  Dunbar  said  to  him,  "  Doctor,  I'm  a  little  surprised 
to  see  you  this  morning,  for  I've  been  lying  awake  nearly 
all  night  thinking  of  you  and  the  Union  and  the  mission- 
ary debt,  and  I  believe  I've  got  hold  of  a  plan  that  will 
pay  it." 

He  then  went  on  to  say,  that  after  his  family  had 
retired  to  rest,  the  night  before,  he  had  taken  up  Dr. 
Wayland's  Missionary  Sermon  and  read  it  through,  not 
finishing  it  until  long  after  midnight.  It  made  such  an 
impression  on  his  mind  that  he  could  not  sleep.  "  The 
debt,"  he  said,  "seemed  such  a  small  ihing  to  press  upon 
all  the  Baptist  communicants  in  the  Northern  States,  that  I 
felt  ashamed  of  it,  and  lay  trying  to  devise  some  plan  by 
which  it  might  be  swept  off.  A  small  fraction  from  each 
church-member  would  do  it ;  but  suppose  we  get  thirty-six 
thousand  individuals  to  give  one  dollar  each,  the  work  is 
done  I  If  there  are  any  in  our  number  too  poor  to  do  that, 
their  richer  brethren  will  make  it  up." 

The  plan  struck  the  secretary  favorably,  and  he  prom- 
ised to  suggest  it  to  the  Board.  But  Mr.  Dunbar,  always 
feai'fiil  of  "  red-tape  "  delays,  and  now  impatient  for  a  trial 


ii 


FOREIGN   MISSIONS. 


203 


imd  a  result,  demurred  a  little,  saying,  *^  The  Board  will 
think  well  of  it,  I  know;  so  I  shall  give  the  first  instal- 
ment," and  drawiiig  out  that  inexhaustible  green  purse,  he 
placed  in  the  secretary's  hand  a  gold  dollar  each  for  him- 
self and  Mrs.  Dunbar  and  the  two  children  at  home 
with  him,  calling  on  a  daughter  \  ho  was  then  on  a 
visit,  to  do  the  same,  and  pledging  —  as  he  always  dared 
to  do  —  the  McDougal  Street  Church  for  her  share  in  the 
good  work.  ( .     ; 

The  secretary  returned  to  Boston,  presented  the  plan, 
which  was  adopted,  and  then  issued  circulars  to  the  above 
effect.  The  dolkrs  flew  in  rapidly, —  the  simplicity  of  the 
thing  at  once  making  it  a  "  people's  movement."  It  be- 
came to  Baptists  ''  our  debt,"  and  not  the  debt  of  a  few 
rich  men  who  might  get  rid  of  it  as  best  they  could.^ 
Mr.  Dunbar's  own  people  gave  far  more  than  each  man 
his  dollar,  and  their  pastor  crowned  the  sacrifice  by  laying 

^  We  insert  the  following  letter  from  the  secretary  to  Mr.  Dunbar,  written 
a  short  time  after  the  plan  was  pat  into  operation  :  — 

"  MiBBiONART  Rooks,  Boston,  March  28, 1859. 

"  Mr  DBAB  Brother, —  I  came  to  the  Rooms  this  morning,  after  the  la- 
bors of  the  Sabbath,  not  a  little  exhausted  and  careworn.  But  your  letter, 
BO  full  of  good  things,  has  renewed  my  spirit  and  strengthened  my  heart  for 
the  battle.  As  I  read  on,  I  said,  this  is  too  good  to  be  true  ;  the  Lord  is  an- 
swering before  we  called  upon  him,  and  crowning  our  labors  before  we 
pat  forth  effort.    To  his  name  be  the  praise. 

"  From  all  quarters  there  come  expressions  of  approval  of  the  plan,  and 
a  readiness  to  take  hold  and  carry  it  into  eflfect.  I  may  be  too  sanguine, 
but  I  believe  that  we  shall  succeed,  with  Ood's  blessing,  and  And  thirty-six 
thousand  persons  who  will  give  their  dollar  each  for  so  desirable  an  object. 


"  I  think  you  need  have  no  m'mgivings  on  the  score  of  being  made  too 
prominent.    Talk  the  thing  up  with  the  pastors,  and  tell  me  of  your  buo- 


C088.  ' 


204 


DUNCAN   mJNBAR. 


twenty-five  dollars  from  his  own  purse,  in  addition  to  all 
he  had  already  done,  as  the  last  on  the  altar.  The 
result  is  known.  In  the  words  of  the  secretary,  "  The 
Union  was  freed  from  an  incubus  which  had  crippled  its 
energies  for  the  last  fifteen  years."        ;■  —         .':      f* 

Nor  .  as  Mr.  Dunbtir's  interest  confined  to  foreign  mis- 
sions. The  heathen  of  our  own  land  had  a  large  share  in 
his  pity  and  his  prayers.  ^  ^'• 

From  the  time  that  he  first  saw  the  red  men,  he  never 
lost  his  interest  in  them.  For  the  Mic  Macs  of  New 
Brunswick  and  the  Penobscots  of  Maine  he  labored  per- 
sonally ;  and,  in  after  years,  interested  himself  greatly  for 
the  Cherokees  and  other  tribes  under  the  patronage  of  our 
Missionary  Union.  The  name,  Indian,  was  a  passport  to 
his  heart,  and  the  sorrows  and  oppressions  of  this  people 
were  to  him  a  source  of  real  grief  and  anxiety ;  for  he 
believed  that,  with  regard  to  them,  as  well  as  to  the  negro, 
God  would  call  us  to  account.  Many  will  remember  when 
Rev.  Evan  Jones  brought  Oganaya  to  New  York,  in  the 
year  1835,  how  he  took  him  by  the  hand,  seeking  not  only 
to  benefit,  but  also  to  gratify  him.  At  his  suggestion,  the 
young  men  of  McDougal  Street  Church  presented  him 
with  a  watch,  as  they  did  also  to  more  than  one  other  In- 
dian visitor.  The  ladies,  also,  sent  many  presents  to  liis 
wife  and  family,  while  a  kind  friend  painted  his  miniature, 
which  was  a  matter  of  gx\  at  surprise  and  delight  to  him,  he 
never  having  seen  such  a  thing  before.  And  these  same 
acts  were  repeated  again  and  again  for  strangers  of  the 
same  class.  Mr.  Dunbar  often  said  that  a  man  always 
thought  more  of  himself  if  he  had  a  good  watch ! 

About  twenty-five  years  ago  he  met,  —  in  the  street,  we 
believe,  —  Andrew  Meaux,  chief  of  the  Mic  Macs,  and  his 
wife.     They  were  in  deep  poverty  and  distress,  and  wan- 


INTEREST  IN  THE  BED  MEN. 


206 


dering  helplessly  in  the  great,  strange  city.  An  unprinci- 
pled man  had  ir^duced  the  poor  creatures,  by  fair  promises, 
to  accompany  him  to  England  and  exhibit  themselves  in 
dances  and  war-whoops,  as  new  to  them,  probably,  as 
they  were  to  the  English.  They  did  so  ;  and  hardly  had 
they  ornamented  themselves  in  blankets  and  moccasons, 
feathers  and  beads,  than  they  were  prostrated  with  small- 
pox.  The  hope  of  his  gain  now  being  gone,  the  heartless 
wretch  forsook  them.  Amid  strangers,  and  in  the  very 
deepest  poverty,  their  two  children  died,  causing  them  as 
much  anguish  as  a  like  affliction  would  do  wiser  parents 
anywhere.  A  few  merciful  men,  hearing  of  their  sad  con- 
dition, sent  them  to  New  York,  where  they  landed  without 
means  to  reach  their  tribe.  God  guided  them  to  Mr. 
Dunbar,  and  he  accepted  the  charge.  Every  provision 
was  made  for  their  comfort ;  but  the  poor  mother's  heart 
was  full  of  her  children,  and  she  wept  when  she  spoke  of 
them. 

While  they  were  in  the  city,  Mr.  Seton  had  a  little 
gathering  of  the  Sunday-school  children,  for  their  benefit, 
at  which  were  sung  hymns  and  songs  written  1  lim  for 
the  occasion.  One  of  these  is  well  remembered  by  those 
who  joined  in  its  notes  when  children,  beginning,  — 

"  Chief  Andrew  Meaax." 

Money  was  raised  to  take  the  strangers  home  and  to 
supply  them  with  mimberless  comforts.  Their  voyage  had 
been  a  most  painful  and  unprofitable  one  ;  but  the  sympathy 
and  benevolence  tliey  received  in  the  McDougal  Street 
Church  did  much  to  soothe  their  disappointment.  Nor  were 
their  spiritual  wants  forgotten.  Mr.  Dunbar,  and  others 
interested  in  them,  strove  to  instruct  them,  and  to  lead  their 
troubled  minds  to  tlie  compassionate  Saviour.     It  was, 

18 


206 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR.  Ji 


after  all,  the  soul  preeminently  which  Mr.  Dunbar  souglit 
to  beneftt ;  and  often  did  he  use  the  good  things  of  this 
life  as  means  whereby  to  gain  the  heart  of  the  sufferer,  and 
thus  lead  him  from  the  trials  of  life  to  the  peace  and  joy 
found  only  in  Christ.  -  ..,..;■: 

We  find  a  copy  of  a  hymn,  which  he  used  often  to 
sing,  and  sometimes  to  repeat,  when  pleading  for  the  red 
men.  We  do  not  know  its  author,  but  insert  it  here  as 
another  plea  for  a  race  which  will  soon  be  no  more  :  — 

»*THE  INDIAN'S  APPEAL  TO  AMERICAN  CHRISTIANS. 

"I  dwell  with  the  tempest,  I'm  rock'd  by  the  storm ; 

No  pillow  of  luxury  come  I  to  crave  :         ^"  .'    • 

Sole  lord  of  the  brute,  in  whose  furs  I  am  warm,  — 
Yet  pity  the  red  man,  ye  sons  of  the  wave. 


"  Ere  the  wide-spreading  ocean,  now  rolling  so  blue, 
Your  forefathers  bore  from  afar  to  our  shore,       '  > ' 
These  forests  comprised  all  of  pleasure  we  knew ; 
Then  pity  the  red  man,  thus  happy  no  more  1 

"  Ye  dwell  at  the  fountains  of  mental  delight, 
Where  streams  intellectual  delicionsly  roll ; 
And  when  the  rich  banquets  so  freely  invite. 
Oh,  pity  the  red  man  —  he,  too,  has  a  soul ! 

*'0h,  teach  him  the  name  to  Christians  so  dear,— 
Your  passport  to  mansions  of  glory  on  high ; 
That  name  which  supports  yon,  in  death,  withont  fear, 
Declare  to  the  red  man,  and  teach  him  to  — die." 


.J?:^^?*i^-  ^i^>H!tl*r 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


Niu  to  Wia  SonlB — Preaching  at  the  Oaming  Table  —  The  Childien'i  Hlnliter — Bytti 
pathy  with  the  Little  Ooea  —  PlayfiilnesB  —  Ineidente  —  Extraota  from  Letten. 

ilTH  Mr.  Dunbar  the  ministry  of  the  gospel  was 
not  viewed  as  a  mere  "  profession."  It  was  in 
his  heart  to  serve  Christ  and  his  fellow-creatures, 
not  only  on  the  Sabbath,  or  in  the  pulpit,  but  dur- 
ing the  week,  whether  among  his  own  people  or 
among  strangers.  By  the  wayside,  at  a  casual 
visit,  in  the  cars,  or  on  shipboard,  he  was  ever  the  min- 
ister of  Christ ;  careless  of  the  set  conventionalities  of 
office,  and  ready  to  do  a  kind  deed,  to  speak  a  sympathiz- 
ing, instructive,  or  warning  word,  as  the  occasion  sug- 
gested ;  and  especially  solicitous,  in  all  his  intercourse 
with  his  fellow-men,  to  lead  them  to  the  Saviour. 

He  had  a  rare  and  happy  way  of  giving  a  religious  turn 
to  conversation.  The  recital  of  some  striking  incident  in 
his  own  life  would  often  lead  the  minds  of  his  listeners  to 
themes  far  different  from  what  they  had  anticipated  at  the 
outset,  and  which  were  calculated  to  make  deep  rehgious 
impressions. 

Once,  when  going  up  the  North  River,  a  sudden  shower, 
about  sunset,  drove  all  the  passengers  from  the  deck  into 
the  cabin.  Here  they  surprised  a  party  of  gamblers  round 
a  centre-table,  whither  they  had  drawn  two  or  three  un- 
wary youths.  After  a  little  pause  at  this  interruption, 
they  went  on  shuffling  theh'  cards,  "  when,"  says  one  who 


208 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


was  present,  "  a  gentleman  rose  and  went  up  to  them.  He 
looked  on  as  if  with  interest  in  the  game ;  and  soon  one 
of  the  number  offered  him  a  seat,  saying,  *  Will  you  try  a 
hand  with  us,  sir  ? ' 

"  '  No,'  replied  the  gentleman,  who  I  then  learned  was 
Mr.  Dunbar ;  *  I  do  not  know  the  name  of  a  card.  When 
I  was  young,  I  had  a  great  many  games  which  1  enjoyed 
a.s  much  as  you  do  yours,  and  I  now  love  to  see  all  young 
men  happy.'  He  then  told  them  of  his  early  life  in  the 
Highlands  of  Scotland,  with  its  wild  sports  and  its  hair- 
breadth escapes,  until  quite  a  group,  besicics  the  card- 
players,  had  gathered  round  him.  The  young  men  ceased 
playing,  and  gave  him  all  their  attention.  Soon  he  spoke 
of  a  time  when  he  grew  sick  of  these  pleasures,  and  was 
dissatisfied  with  himself;  when  he  felt  that  he  was  at  enmity 
with  God,  and  that  unless  converted  and  reconciled  to  liini, 
he  must  be  eternally  lost.  He  told  *hem  of  the  despair  into 
which  he  fell,  and  of  his  '  fearful  lookiiig-for  of  judgment,' 
and  then  of  the  manner  in  which  Christ  revealed  himself  as 
the  Way  of  Life,  and  of  the  change  this  made  in  all  his 
prospects  and  pursuits  for  this  world. 

**  By  this  time  the  cards  had  all  been  slipped  into  the 
pockets  of  the  owners,  while  the  man  of  God,  having 
gained  their  ear,  preached  Christ  to  them.  Even  those 
who,  under  other  circumstances,  would  have  scoffed,  now 
listened  with  interest  and  attention,  and  all  treated  him 
with  the  greatest  respect.  But  had  he  felt  that  he  did  well 
to  be  angry  at  sight  of  sin,  and  harshly  rebuked  the  game- 
sters, threatening  to  expose  them,  he  could  not  have  held 
them  a  moment  to  listen  to  the  story  of  Calvary.  Thus 
was  he  ever  wise  to  win  souls.  The  stand  he  thus 
firmly  and  decidedly  took,  commended  itself  to  the  Chris- 
tians present  there.     They  all  gathered  round  him,  like  a 


THE  children's  MINISTER. 


209 


family,  td  talk  of  home  and  common  interests.  And 
while  the  storm  raged  without,  they  enjoyed  a  blessed  sea- 
son, speaking  of  the  glories  of  Him  they  loved,  and  singing 
songs  of  praise  to  his  name. 

"His  brave  advocacy  of  his  Master's  claims  gave  him  an 
opportunity  to  do  good  to  many  who  never  went  to  the 
house  of  God.  Eternity  will  reveal  the  result  of  that 
evening's  labor.  Thus  was  he  ever  sowing  beside  all 
waters." 

It  may  readily  be  inferred  that  Mr.  Dunbar  excelled  as 
a  pastor.  His  genial  disposition,  his  ardent  piety,  his 
great  experience  in  "  cases  of  conscience,"  eminently  fitted 
him  for  this  part  of  ministerial  labor.  In  this  work  he 
was  unwearied,  not  only  in  his  own  cc/jgregation,  but  in 
the  wider  circle  of  the  needy,  neglected,  and  sorrowfal, 
especially  in  New  York.  Many  such  made  great  lamen- 
tation over  him  at  his  burial,  for  they  had  lost  a  friend 
indeed. 

In  that  important,  but  difficult  and  much-neglected  part 
of  a  pastor's  work,  ministering  to  the  children,  Mr.  Dun- 
bar was  very  successful.  They  loved  him,  for  he  sympa- 
thized with  them  in  their  little  joys  and  trials,  and  ever 
had  for  them  a  pleasant  and  instructive  wcrd,  and  often 
gave  them  little  tokens  of  his  affection.  By  his  gentle  and 
winning  ways  he  was  instrumental  in  leading  many  of 
these  lambs  to  the  "  Good  Shephtrd." 

He  always  interested  himself  in  the  innocent  pleasures 
of  the  young,  and  was  ever  devising  plans  for  their  profit 
and  amusement.  His  kind  smile  and  cheerful  tones  have 
left  impressions,  never  to  be  effaced,  on  hundreds  of  little 
hearts. 

A  lady,  who  was  much  with  his  children  in  her  youth, 
says,  "  I  well  remember  the  charm  he  had  for  the  young 

18* 


210 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


Whenever  we  were  planning  a  visit  to  his  house,  we  chose 
an  evening  when  he  would  be  at  home,  that  our  pleasure 
might  be  enhanced  by  his  company." 

One  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  deacons,  who  frequently  went 
with  him  in  his  visits  of  mercy,  says  he  noticed  in  him 
traits  of  character  very  uncommon  even  among  the 
benevolent.  More  than  once  he  has  gone  with  him  to 
the  home  of  poverty  and  sickness  ;  and,  if  little  children 
were  passing  their  time  wearily  in  the  sick-room,  which, 
perhaps,  was  their  only  one,  or  if  they  were  disturbing 
the  sufferer  by  their  noise,  Mr.  Dunbar  would  leave  him 
a  few  moments  to  converse  or  pray,  and,  after  a  short  ab- 
sence, return  with  toys  for  the  little  ones,  that  they  might 
be  amused  and  quieted.  Nothing  pleased  him  more  than 
to  be  smiled  on  or  spoken  to  in  the  street  by  children 
whose  names  he  had  to  ask. 

A  little  grandson  of  four  or  five  years,  noticing  that  a 
brother  and  three  cousins  were  named  "  Duncan  Dunbar," 
came  to  his  mother  one  day,  saying  he  wanted  Ma  name 
changed.  When  asked  what  he  wished  to  be  called,  he 
replied  innocently,  "  I  want  to  be  named  *  Grandpa  Dun- 
bar,' too."  He  felt  that  an  honor  was  being  unjustly  kept 
from  him. 

H.  L.  W.,  a  dear  little  boy  in  the  femily,  whom  his 
grandfather  loved  very  much,  spoke  of  him,  after  his 
death,  as  a  veri/  rich  man.  When  told  that  he  was  not 
rich  at  all,  he  expressed  great  surprise,  saying,  "  Why,  he 
always  had  his  pockets  ftdl  of  pretty  things  for  little  cliil- 
dren." 

When,  a  few  years  ago,  Mr.  Dunbar's  portrait,  painted 
by  Verbryck,  was  placed  in  a  window  of  the  store  where 
it  had  been  framed,  a  friend  of  the  family,  passing  by, 
and  not  knowing  it  was  there,  saw  a  group  of  children 


INCIDENTS. 


211 


gathered  around  the  place,  and  heard  little  voices  joyfully* 
exclaiming,  "  Oh,  that's  Mr.  Dunbar,  that's  Mr.  Dun« 
bar  I "  proving  both  the  success  of  the  artist  and  the  love 
of  the  children. 

Gifts  of  the  children  to  himself  always  went  by  their 
names.  He  spoke  of  "  the  little  Smith's  dressing-case," 
"  little  Georgie's  snuff-box,"  —  the  silver  one  he  carried 
with  him  to  the  last,  — "  little  Willie's  porte-monnaie," 
&c.  Amid  all  the  confusion  and  sight-seeing  of  his  last 
visit  to  Europe,  he  did  not  forget  the  dear  boys  at  home, 
—  who  were  gathering  stamps  and  coins,  —  but  sought 
eagerly  for  rare  specimens  to  grace  their  collections. 

He  thus  closes  a  letter  to  a  member  of  his  church, 
absent  with  her  family  for  the  summer :  — 

"  And  to  the  two  dear  little  members  of  my  congrega 
tion,  the  princess  and  the  duchess,  give  my  warmest  love. 
When  are  their  dear  little  hands  going  to  write  me  that  epis- 
tle, promised  last  winter  ?  When  shall  I  hear  that  their 
dear  little  hearts  are  beating  with  love  to  the  blessed  Sav- 
iour, the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  ?  When  will  they  ask  and 
urge  me  to  baptize  them  in  his  name  ?  " 

When  the  excellent  carte-de-visite  of  Mr.  Dunbar  was 
shown  to  one  of  his  little  grandsons,  only  four  years  old,  he 
at  once  recognized  it,  although  he  had  not  seen  the  original 
for  many  months.  "  That's  my  dear  grandpa,"  he  said, 
"  with  his  cane  in  his  hand."  The  spectacles  in  the  other 
hand  being  very  indistinct,  some  one  asked  him  what  they 
were.  "  Oh,"  he  said,  "  that's  a  stick  of  white  candy  for 
Httle  children ! " 

A  nook  in  his  desk  was  always  supplied  with  penknives, 
scissors,  marbles,  picture-books,  and  china  dogs  and  cats, 
—  a  little  store,  on  which  to  draw  for  the  benefit  of  his 
juvenile  friends.     Sometimes,  when  asked,  "  Where  did 


212 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


f^  buy  that?"  he  ^otdd  smile,  and  say,  "  Of  a  poor 
Jew,  a  son  of  Abraham,  standing  on  the  corner  of  the 
street.  He  said  he  had  sold  nothing  this  morning ;  so  I 
bought  these,  and  told  him  other  customers  would  follow 
me.  Poor  Jew  I  You  know  the  blessed  Saviour  was  a 
,  Jew."  No  nation,  no  color,  no  religion,  however  false, 
-kept  a  fellow-creature  outside  the  pale  of  his  sympathy. 
In  a  letter  to  one  of  his  married  daughters,  Mr. 
Dunbar  i^ys,  playfully :  "  What  shall  I  send  the  chil- 
dren, in  the  shape  of  playthings  for  New  Year's?  You 
know  that  children  are  children,  the  world  over.  I  love 
to  make  them  happy,  especially  when  it  can  be  done  at  so 
cheap  a  rate.  The  value  of  a  present  never  enters  their 
heads  or  hearts  —  but  the  color,  the  shape,  and  the  oddity. 
If  one  manages  aright,  he  can  make  many  of  them  hap- 
py with  a  single  dollar.  Have  they  a  stock  of  cats,  dogs, 
and  lambs  ?  Let  me  know.  If  you  begin  to  think  that 
grandpa  is  becoming  a  child  himself,  never  you  mindl 
The  children  and  I  understand  one  another,  and  that's 
enough  I  "        ''--''    ■'■■■-■^'         ^----z  ..^v--.-  ..,/v..;   .-... 

In  a  more  serious  strain,  he  writes  to  a  beloved  grand- 
daughter:—      .    , 

**  My  dear,  good  C, —  I  received  your  nice,  modest  little 
letter,  and  I  thank  you  for  it.  Your  mother  says  you  are  a 
good  girl,  and  grandpa  believes  that  and  more  too  !  I  believe 
you  are  a  monument  of  God's  mercy  and  grace,  and  that, 
long  after  I  am  dead  and  gone  to  my  rest,  you  will  be  in 
a  position  to  exert  an  influence  in  favor  of  the  cause  of 
the   Lord   Jesus  Ciirist  in  the  world. 

"  It  is  very  late  at  night,  and  I  am  much  exhausted  with 
the  heat,  an.d  the  weariness  of  my  evening  lecture ;  so, 
hoping  you  will  excuse  my  short  epistle,  I  must  close  with 


INCIDENTS. 


213 


.ove ;  —  much  love  to  your  father,  mother,  and  the  dear 
boys.  Your  affectionate  grandfather." 


Mr.  Dunbar  was  very  careful  to  promote  a  family  feel- 
ing among  the  members  of  the  church.  At  the  close  of 
the  weekly  lectures  and  prayer-meetings,  he  would  come 
down  from  the  desk  and  greet  the  brethren  with  a  grasp 
of  the  hand  and  kind  words,  encouraging  them  by  his  own 
genial  example  to  interchange  these  tokens  of  affection 
among  themselves.  He  wished  them  to  regard  each  other 
as  members  of  a  familv,  and  to  feel  an  interest  in  whatever 
related  to  their  mutual  welfare.  His  quick  eye  detected 
a  new  face  in  the  congregation,  and  he  sought  to  awaken 
a  honie-feeh'ng  in  the  heart  of  the  stranger.  Sometimes, 
when  introducing  a  new  member,  he  would  say,  "  This  is 

brother ,  from  the  church  in .     He   has   come 

among  us,  and  you  must  welcome  him,  and  do  him  all  the 
good  you  can..  He  builds  houses,  or,  he  keeps  a  store. 
When  you  want  anything  in  his  line,  go  and  encourage 
hiai.  '  Do  good  to  all  men,  but  especially  to  tJtem  who  are 
of  the  household  of  faith .' '  "  Hundreds,  we  are  sure,  now 
in  comfortable  circumstances,  can  look  back  to  such  words 
as  these  for  their  first  success.  Thus  was  he  truly  a  pas- 
tor to  the  flock,  in  temporal  as  well  as  in  spiritual  things. 

Not  only  did  he  pay  special  regard  to  strangers  him- 
self, but  he  encouraged  and  urged  his  brethren  to  do 
80,  both  in  their  homes  and  in  the  sanctuary,  and  thus 
have  many  been  brought  into  the  fold  of  Christ.  One  of 
the  brethren  relates  the  following  remarkable  incident : — 

"  A  man  who  was  perfectly  regardless  of  religion,  and 
not  even  an  attendant  on  the  means  of  grace,  dreamed  one 
night  that  a  person  appeared  to  him  and  said,  ^  Qo  to  Mr. 
Dunbar's  church.'     On  awakening,  he  remembered  hav- 


u 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


ing  heard  of  a  minister  of  that  name,  and  resolved  that  some- 
time he  would  go  to  hear  him.  Accordingly,  one  Wednes- 
day evening,  he  went  into  the  vestry  and  heard  the  lect- 
ure without  the  least  feeling. 

**  When  the  meeting  was  over,  a  good  brother  who  had 
noticed  the  stranger,  stepped  up  to  him,  gave  him  his 
hand,  and  welcomed  him  there.  He  also  invited  him  to 
come  again.  This  little  courtesy,  it  seems,  gratified  him 
so  much,  that  on  going  out  he  resolved  to  accept  the 
invitation.  He  came  again,  and  then  God  met  him.  His 
attention  was  arrested,  and  ere  long  he  was  brought  to 
Christ,  and  baptized  into  that  church.       '    »      •    -  '         ■ 

"  A  word  fitly  spoken  is  like  apples  of  gold  in  pi'^tures 
of  silver."  : 

Mr.  Dunbar  did  much  to  promote  the  happiness  of  oth- 
ers, not  only  by  acts  of  kindness  toward  the  needy  and 
afflicted,  but  by  the  habitual  sunshine  of  his  genial  dispo- 
sition. There  was  about  him  a  playfulness  and  humor, 
never  inconsistent  with  true  Christian  dignity,  which  made 
his  presence  a  pleasure  in  all  circles. 

One  day  the  mother  of  a  beloved  member  of  his  church 
came  over  the  ferry  from  Hoboken,  to  call  on  his  family. 
She  was  urged  to  remain  to  tea,  Mr.  Dunbar  telling  her 
that  he  would  send  word  to  her  son's  counting-room  that 
she  was  there,  and  he  would  come  and  take  her  safely 
home.  She  consented,  and  he  sent  a  messenger  to  the 
Iron  Works  to  say  that  a  lady  who  knew  Mr.  N., 
and  was  greatly  interested  in  him  when  a  boy,  was 
at  his  house,  and  wished  to  see  him ;  and  that  he  must 
remain  to  tea. 

With  all  speed,  Mr.  N.  dropped  his  pen,  and  went  down, 
only  to  be  excused,  as  he  did  not  feel  himself  exactly  pre- 
sentable, coming  as  he  had  from  his  counting-room,  where 


INCIDENTS.   ?^i 


215 


the  dust  was  flying  about.  This  he  said  at  the  door,  to 
Mr.  Dunbar,  who,  however,  would  take  no  excuse,  but 
insisted  upon  his  coming  in. 

"  But,"  asked  Mr.  N.,  "  who  is  this  lady  ?  " 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  he  replied,  "  for  I  want  to  see  if  you 
will  know  her  now  ;  you  knew  her  well  when  you  were  a 
boy."      ■■'^'^-  '-  .,„,.•-■-.;  •   h- 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  N.,  *'  I  will  go  home  first,  and  I  prom- 
ise you  I  will  return  in  time  for  tea."       '  ,- 

But  no  ;  Mr.  Dunbar  assured  him  he  could  not  let  him 
off,  and  that  he  was  quite  well  prepared  to  meet  the  lady. 
So,  greatly  against  his  wishes,  Mr.  N.,  was  ushered  into 

the  parlor  to  be  introduced  to his  mother  I  to  the  no 

small  amusement  of  all  who  had  seen  his  first  embarrass- 
ment, -^rii.  ..tXUi':  -■■-     "•'      0^>:V^>    : 

It  was  the  practice  of  Mr.  Dunbar,  when  union  prayer- 
meetings  were  held  at  the  McDougal  Street  Church,  to 
invite  those  from  a  distance,  home  to  tea  with  him,  that 
they  might  be  near  for  the  evening  service. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  he  had  filled  his  parlors  to 
his  heart's  content,  when  a  lady  called  at  the  door,  asking 
for  Mr.  Dunbar.  She  had  known  him  when  a  child,  and 
having  now  come  to  New  York,  felt  a  desire  to  see  him. 
When  presented  to  him,  she  looked  a  little  confused,  and 
said,  "  This  is  not  the  Mr.  Dunbar  I  asked  for  ;  it  is  the 
old  gentleman  I  wish  to  see,  —  your  father,  I  suppose." 

His  wonderfully  youthful  figure  and  face  were  often 
the  subject  of  remark,  and  Mr.  D.  saw  at  once  that  his 
^uest  had  been  expecting  to  see  a  bowed  and  gray-haired 
grandsire. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  giving  her  the  hand  of  cordial 
Welcome,  "you  shall  see  him.    Go  with  my  daughter,  and 


216 


DUNCAN    DUNBAB. 


lay  o£f  your  things,  and  when  you  come  back  the  o/c^.  gen- 
tleman will  be  here." 

After  some  little  time,  no  old  gentleman  appearing,  she 
ventured  to  ask  for  him  again.  Mr.  Dunbar  then  said 
playfully,  "  Have  a  little  patience  till  ■•  ze  go  down  to  tea, 
and  you  will  find  the  old  gentleman  at  the  table." 

When  the  company  took  their  seats  in  the  dining-room, 
the  stranger  looked  around  ;  but  seeing  no  venerable  face, 
asked  for  him  again,  when  Mr.  Dunbar  himself  was  pre- 
sented to  her  as  the  veritable  man  she  sought.  She,  remem- 
bering him  as  the  father  of  a  family  when  she  was  a  little 
child  in  Bermuda,  had  expected  now  to  meet  an  old  man 
tottering  on  the  verge  of  the  grave.  When,  however,- 
she  became  satisfied  that  the  hale,  vigorous,  and  active 
pastor  was  he  who  more  than  forty  years  ago  seemed 
to  her  a  man  in  middle  life,  she  was  amazed,  and  won> 
dered  what  charm  it  was  that  thus  defied  the  power  of 
time. 


Once,  when  going  up  the  Hudson,  with  one  of  his  daugh- 
ters, a  lady  asked  her,  on  deck,  if  she  would  take  the  chair 
next  her  hushcmd^  and  give  her  the  one  she  then  oc- 
cupied. :(•    ^  ^    .   /    .-- 


■^-tf 


T^l 


'he  daughter  made  the  exchange,  and  said,  "  She 
thinks  you  very  young,  father."  "Oh,  no,  my  dear," 
he  replied ;  "  she  probably  thinks  me  an  old  fool  with  a 
young  wife."       ;,rv    -i?^^,^ «   ',-'-"^i'' U.-,-  ^^'  "    - 

To  a  young  lady  of  his  congregation,  when  absent,  he 
wrote  among  other  items  of  news :  —    ^      -  7  •  f. 

"  Since  this  was  commenced,  I  have  been  down  to  the 
church,  in  the  face  of  a  dreadful  rain-storm,  to  marry 
Mr. to  Mrs. ;  and,  would  you  believe  it  ?  piti- 
less and  pelting  as  were  the  rain  and  lightning,  the  body 


INCIDENTS. 


217 


Irm,  to  marry 


of  the  house  was  full.  Saint  and  sinner  were  there, 
gray  hairs  and  infancy,  vying  with  each  other  in  pro- 
found eagerness  to  see  the  bride.  May  the  Lord  help  and 
reform  poor  human  nature  I  Had  this  been  a  meeting, 
appointed  and  extensively  noticed,  for  the  purpose  of  call 
ing  on  God  ^)r  pardon  and  eternal  life,  how  many  think 
you  would  have  ventured  from  their  sheltered  homes  on 

such  a  night  ?  "  '?••^F^^«J^w^'^«r':^.'i^i^#  ^^py^  MM:^' 

To  a  daughter,  visiting  in  New  England,  he  wrote :  — 
"  I  cannot  be  so  cruel  as  to  urge  your  sudden  return 
home  if  you  are  enjoying  yourself;  but  for  those  ever- 
lasting *  societies '  and  ^  picnics,'  let  them  go  to  Jericlio  1 
-Jam  sick  of  them  I  ^  Fools  make  feasts,  and  wise  men 
eat  of  them.'  It  is  a  drudgery  which  the  Yankee  ladies 
love  to  impose  on  themselves,  and  in  which  they  pay 
dearly  for  the  pleasure  of  killing  themselves.' 


■  ,^^- 


i«:^lv,ii?^W  ^'.-ii^iit^    iny- 


■■>*;•'- 


4 


■-'r^y. 


■'*;*•-**'  i^-< 


i/.' 


J  .i'»':-i-  ,,ia'.j«.- 


.1  ,Vi' 


*•..»,. 


.  '     ! 


K 


OhangiBg  Xnemiea  to  Filenda— An  OpposiDg  Hnsbuid  Won — An  Angry  "nsitor  Con- 
Terted—  Making  Peace — Comforting  the  Aged  and  Lonely — Begard  for  the  Send 
billfy  of  the  Poor  —  Ood's  End  of  the  Purae. 

)R.  DUNBAR  was  remarkable  for  his  power  of 
conciliation,  and  for  adapting  himself  to  the  char- 
acter and  circumstances  of  those  with  whom  he 
came  in  contact. 

If  ever,  in  his  jealousy  for  God's  honor,  he 
seemed  to  make  an  enemy,  he  sooner  or  later  changed 
him  to  a  friend.  Many  who  left  him  in  the  times  of  trial 
in  the  church,  came  back,  renewing  the  bonds  they  had 
broken. 

In  want,  sorrow,  sickness,  or  perplexity,  they  sought  in 
vain  for  another  heart  or  hand  like  his.  Many  of  these  re- 
turned to  the  dear  old  fold  to  die  within  its  enclosure.  Many, 
who  had  gone  to  other  churches,  sent  for  him  when  dying, 
and  desired  that  his  voice  might  be  the  last  heard  above 
their  sleeping  dust ;  and  not  a  few,  who,  differing  widely 
from  him  in  views  of  discipline,  had  imagined  their  affections 
weaned  from  him,  were  among  the  truest  mourners  over  his 
dear  remains,  beneath  the  pulpit  where  so  long  he  had 
called  sinners  to  repentance,  and  confirmed  and  comforted 
the  saints.  ' 

His  power  was  equally  strong  in  overcoming  the  oppo- 
sition of  the  unconverted.  At  one  time  a  lady,  who  had 
not  been  a  church-goer,  becan*  •?  deeply  concenned  for  her 

(218) 


AN  OPPOSING  HUSBAND  WON. 


210 


An  Angry  Ttoltor  Con- 
-B«gMdfi»  the  Bend 

►r  his  power  of 
self  to  the  char- 
)  with  whom  he 

Jod's  honor,  he 

)r  later  changed 

he  times  of  trial 

bonds  they  had 

[,  they  sought  in 
tany  of  these  re- 
bnclosure.  Many, 
[him  when  dying, 
llast  heard  above 
differing  widely 
fed  their  affections 

loumers  over  his 

80  long  he  had 

ed  and  comforted 

[oming  the  oppo- 
I  a  lady,  who  had 
loncei-ned  for  her 


soul,  and  imagined  that  she  was  losing  her  mind.  Jt 
friend  advised  her  to  consult  the  minister  in  McDongal 
Street,  which  she  did ;  and  very  soon  she  found  peace,  and 
then  desired  above  all  things  a  place  among  God's  people. 
But  when  she  broached  the  subject  to  her  husband,  he 
thought  she  was  beside  herself.  The  Baptists  were  a 
people  he  had  only  heard  of ;  and  the  idea  of  his  wife  be- 
ing immersed  in  the  Hudson  river,  befo're  a  crowd  of 
curious  people,  was  not  to  be  for  a  moment  entertained. 
She  heard  the  voice  of  her  newly-found  Saviour,  saying, 
"  This  is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it ; "  but  across  the  path 
of  duty  stood  one  to  whom  she,  as  a  wife,  felt  bound  to 
submit  herself.  When  she  came  to  Mr.  Dunbar  with 
this  new  grief,  he  said  calmly,  "  Leave  that  with  me.  I  will 
make  that  right  with  your  husband."  He  sought  him  in 
his  place  of  business  ;  found  him  reading  his  morning  pa- 
per, and  was  received  most  graciously  as  a  stranger. 
When,  however,  he  announced  his  name,  a  little  restless- 
ness was  seen  under  the  effort  politeness  made  to  hide  it. 
He,  not  appearing  to  notice  this,  said,  **  I  presume,  sir, 
you  are  pware  that  Mrs. has  been  again  and  again 


>i. 


to  my  house  and  my  church.' 

*'  Oh,  yes,  yes."  *     " 

"And  she  has,  of  course,  told  you  the  great  change 
which  has  taken  place  in  her  feelings  with  regard  to  her 
state  before  God  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  but  it  wont  last,  sir ;  it  will  all  pass  away 
when  the  excitement  is  over." 

"  But  she  believes  she  has  been  bom  again,  and  that  old 
things  have  passed  away  with  her,  and  all  things  become 


new. 


>» 


"  But  my  wife  is  very  fond  of  gayety,"  persisted  the 
G;entleman  ;  "  and  it  will  not  be  three  months  before  she  is 


220 


I>UMCAN  DUNBAB.^^,  4< 


•gain  in  the  ball-room.  I  don't  want  her  to  join  the 
church  and  be  a  hypocrite  I "     uk7,^  »>a  ■u-m'  ^^Mi^^^MrJMjM.. 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Dunbar,  kindly,  "  you 
can  safely  leave  this  with  her  own  conscience  before  God. 
She  feels  it  a  duty  laid  upon  her  to  honor  her  Saviour  by 
a  pubUc  profession,  and  I  am  sure  you,  who  have  always 
been  a  kind  and  indulgent  husband,  will  not  tyrannize  over 
her  in  this  solemn  matter."        ...  ,^..„.. 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  the  gentleman,  blandly.  "  I 
have  never  been  a  tyrant  in  my  family ;  and  if  she  is  re- 
solved on  this,  I  will  not  interfere,  although  it  certainly 
seems  to  me  a  very  foolish  step." 

The  lady  was  baptized,  and  Hved  long  years  to  prove 
that  the  change  which  drew  her  from  the  gay  world 
into  the  fold  of  God,  was  a  real  one ;  and  after  a  painful 
sickness,  of  long  duration,  her  husband  saw  her  die  in  the 
tnumphs  of  the  faith  which  she  professed. 

And  in  scores  of  such  cases,  Mr.  Dunbar  won,  by  his 
genial  manner  and  kind  words,  the  free  consent  of  oppos- 
ing husbands  and  &thers  for  those  wishing  to  unite  with 
Ood's  people.      . ;•.•!.;;-.  ../•  ...-^.*-   u-iM-  ?,  m*  .>'.fi«j <.■.%«-«  .'<,,!• 

A  young  lady  called  on  him  one  day,  in  no  lovely  mood 
for  a  stranger.    She  announced,  with  not  a  little  spirit,  that 

her  mother  had  been  a  member  of  the church,  but  was 

recently  excluded.  She  extolled  her  as  a  pattern  of  virtue 
and  piety,  and  denounced  the  church  in  scathing  terms ; 
adding,  that,  *'■  she  had  come  to  him  as  one  of  the  oldest 
pastors,  to  ask  if  that  was  the  way  Baptist  churches 
always  treated  their  members  who  chaucefl  to  differ  from 
them  ;  if  so,  she  had  had  enough  of  them."  ;       *       .      ' 

Without  appearing  to  notice  the  tone  of  sarcasm,  or  the 
flashing  of  anger,  Mr.  Dunbar  said  he  could  not  decide  on 


ANGRY  VIBITOB  CONVERTED. 


^21 


.■}m\y^it  «^ 


tlie  right  or  the  wron^  of  the  case,  because  he  knew  ndne 
of  the  particulars.  She  then  went  on  to  say,  that,  "  in  a 
matter  of  discipline,  her  mother  had  taken  very  decided 
ground  against  the  church,  and  not  yielding  to  the  major- 
ity, had  kept  agitating  the  subject  until  they  withdrew  the 
hand  of  fellowship  from  her,"  probably  for  an  unwarrant- 
able use  of  her  tongue.      «*  i«,  ,„  ^. . 

Mr.  Dunbar  gave  the  young  stranger  all  credit  for  her 
aftection,  and  her  regard  for  her  mother's  honor.  He 
talked  to  her  in  the  kindest  and  most  iatherly  manner,  and 
when  she  rose  to  go,  took  her  hand,  saying,  "  You  came 
to  me  to-day^  my  young  friend,  grieved  and  anxious  for 
the  reputation  of  your  mother ;  I  hope  the  next  time  you 
come,  it  will  be  with  anguish  for  your  own  soul ;  that,  see- 
ing yourself  lost  and  condemned,  by  reason  of  sin,  you  will 
come,  to  ask,  *  What  shall  I  do  to  be  saved  ?  '  Your  own 
state  before  God  should  outweigh  all  other  thoughts 
and  interests."  And  with  a  most  solemn  charge  to  seek 
her  own  soul's  salvation,  he  dismissed  her  in  a  mood  sof- 
tened toward  him,  however  much  she  might  have  felt  in- 
censed against  his  denomination.  jfi.ii^ffm 
^  A  week  or  two  passed,  and  again  she  came  to  him  ;  but 
this  time  it  was  under  a  burden  of  guilt  her  proud  spirit 
could  no  longer  bear.  His  last  words,  on  the  former  visit, 
had  been  as  arrows  to  her  heart,  and  from  the  hour  they 
were  spoken,  she  had  had  no  rest.  In  the  same  merciful 
spirit  he  led  hw  to  Christ,  as  the  great  burden-bearer. 
After  a  little  time,  she  found  peace  in  believing,  and  was 
baptized  into  his  church,     --'■^'i  ^vm       r  ^-^  .  --  .  rr 

While  so  anxious  and  active  for  the  well-doing  of  tltf 
young  under  his  influence,  Mr.  Dunbar,  remembering  tho 
folly  of  his  own  youth,  was  very  lenient  towards  those  who 

.       .,       19  •       ...  .. ..„ 


222 


DUNCAI?  DUNBAR,  ^i)!' I  • 


erred  through  temptation  or  thoughtlessness,  never  forget* 
ting,  that,       ,.,  _ 


ist-t.-t.-r    f^        It  -  *^i  9.-H         .Pi  1 


.,-;..;...  ,u,    ;^  =iV    n-    «« To  step  aside  is  hmnan."  i^i-M^;%^-^Ji^te 

Being  on  a  journey  at  one  time,  he  stopped  on  his  way 
to  visit  a  family  once  attendants  on  his  church,  and  whose 
children  were  dear  among  the  lamhs  of  his  fold.  He  found 
them  in  great  a£Qiiction.  One  of  their  young  daughters, 
on  whom  many  fond  hopes  were  centred,  had  eloped  from 
her  home  wich  a  play-actor,  to  whom  they  learned  she 
was  married.  The  mother  and  sisters  were  heart-hroken, 
trembling  for  the  frail  foundation  on  which  her  happiness 
was  built ;  but  the  father,  feeling  that  his  authority  was 
also  set  at  nought,  was  indignant  at  her  course.  Mr.  Dun- 
bar had  cicme  ju  t  in  time  to  act  as  peace-maker  between 
the  injured  parents  and  the  erring  child.  She  had  sent 
home  for  permission  to  visit  them,  and,  this  being  refused, 
had  asked  for  her  wardrobe.  Her  father  felt  that  she  had 
forfeited  all  claim  on  her  family,  and  allowed  no  response 
to  be  made  to  this  request;  and  there  the  matter  was 
resting.  i-ya  - 

Mr.  Dunbar,  while  he  justly  censured  the  giddy  girl, 
remembered  that  she  was  httle  more  than  an  impulsive 
child,  and  that  if  she  had  thrown  away  her  happiness,  she 
was  to  be  pitied  as  well  as  blamed ;  and  he  encouraged  her 
friends,  by  representing  the  case  as  far  from  a  hopeless 
one.  "  Who  can  tell,"  he  asked,  "  but  by  judicious  treat- 
ment now,  she  may  see  her  ingratitude,  and  her  husband 
be  drawn  into  some  nobler  path,  where  he  may  yet  be  an 
honor  to  the  family  ?  "  He  volunteered  to  make  peace 
between  them.  He  visited  them  at  their  hotel,  and  found 
the  wayward  child,  although  not  sorry  for  her  choice, 
penitent  that  she  had  so  deceived  her  parents.    The  young 


COMFORTING  THE   LONELY. 


22B 


actor,  who,  we  believe,  was  honorable  and  upn'ght  beyond 
his  class,  excused  his  course  only  on  the  ground  that  it  was 
his  sole  hope  of  securing  the  child  of  such  parents.  He 
made  all  the  apologies  and  pledges  required,  listened  at- 
tentively and  respectfully  to  Mr.  Dunbar's  advice,  and 
promised  to  follow  it  Thus  reconciliation  was  effected. 
Ere  long,  permission  was  given  to  the  daughter  to  visit 
her  parents,  and  when  the  wound  was  a  little  healed,  she 
was  received  back  as  an  erring  child. 

Of  all  classes  of  mourners,  widows  had  an  especial  place 
in  his  sympathies.  .  The  very  word,  "  widow,"  had  talis- 
manic  power  to  open  his  heart,  and,  when  there  was  need 
of  it,  his  purse  also.  There  were  two  or  three  of  this  class 
in  the  **  Old  Ladies'  Home,"  in  whom  he  was  much  in- 
terested from  having  known  them  before  their  going  there. 
One  of  them,  on  the  first  Sabbath  morning  she  spent  at  the 
Home,  was  greatly  cast  down  ;  and,  although  there  was  to 
be  preaching  in  the  chapel,  felt  that  she  could  not  leave  her 
room.  She  gave  vent  to  her  murmurings,  saying,  "  Here 
I  am,  in  my  old  age,  separated  by  death  from  my  beloved 
children  and  my  affectionate  husband,  far  from  the  friends 
I  love,  and  from  my  church-privileges."  Her  soul  was  in 
great  heaviness.  She  resolved,  however,  to  go  to  the  ser- 
vice. But  when  she  took  her  seat,  she  could  not  help 
weeping  over  her  mournful  lot.  But  soon,  to  her  joy, 
Mr.  Dunbar  entered  the  desk  I  He  gave  out  as  his  text, 
"  The  Lord  hath  utterly  separated  me  from  his  people." 
"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  each  poor,  lonely  heart  here  cries, '  that 
is  for  me.  I  had  just  been  saying  those  words,  as  1  re- 
membered the  days  gone  by,  when  I  walked  with  my  hus- 
band and  children  to  the  house  of  God.  But  they  are 
gone,  and  I  am  shut  out  even  from  the  communion  of  the 
saints,  among  whom  my  lot  was  cast,  —  my  pastor,  the  dear 


224 


iJi<  DUNCAN   DUNBAR/ 


cons,  and  the  bretliren ;  I  am  comparatively  alone,  few  left 
to  care  whether  I  live  or  die.'  These  were  your  thoughts," 
said  he,  "  and  I  do  not  wonder  at  them.  I  have  come 
this  morning  to  bring  you  a  message  from  the  Comforter, 
my  sisters  "  And  his  words  were  like  healing  balm  to  all 
those  poor,  wounded  hearts,  as  he  drew  their  minds  from 
the  sorrows  of  age  and  loneliness  in  the  wilderness  up  to 
that  home  where  they  should  so  soon  meet  the  Saviour  and 
the  ransomed  ones  who  had  gone  before  them.     ' '  '^  +  ^>' 

Another  of  these  widows,  Mrs.  J.,  a  lady  by  birth  and 
education,  bad  a  large  place  in  his  kind  heart.  He  me  i 
her  first  soon  after  his  removal  to  New  York,  under  cir- 
cumstances, to  her,  of  great  trial  and  humiliation,  and  re- 
ceived her  into  his  own  home,  where  so  many  sonowfiil 
ones  before  and  since  found  a  reftige.  Here  she  was 
converted  and  was  baptized  into  the  fellowship  of  Mc- 
Dougal  Street  Church.  She  remained  with  Mrs.  Dunbar 
until  her  desire  for  useftilness  was  gratified,  and  she  went 
where  her  services  were  ftiUy  appreciated.  Her  humility 
and  piety  made  her  a  blessing  wherever  her  lot  was  cast ; 
but  when  the  infirmities  of  age  began  to  gather  upon  her, 
she  chose  this  quiet  resting-place,  as  she  had  neither  chil- 
dren nor  home.  We  find  many  beautiful  letters  express- 
ing her  gratitude  and  affection.  Mr.  Dunbar  often  went 
to  "  the  Home"  to  cheer  her  and  others  with  the  bright 
prospect  beyond  the  dark  river.  He  has  passed  over  be- 
fore them,  and  is  now  enjoying  the  rest  for  which  they 
are  longing. 

About  six  years  ago,  several  cases  came  to  his  knowl- 
edge, of  persons  who  had  hitherto  been  in  good  circum- 
stances, suffering  for  the  time  from  want  of  employment 
or  from  the  expenses  of  sickness.  At  a  communion  sea- 
son he  mentioned  this,  saying,  *'  There  is  a  fund  in  the 


♦  /.■■' 


god's  end  op  the  purse. 


225 


hands  of  your  deacons,  dear  brethren,  for  the  benefit  of 
several  aged  sisters  who  have  lo/ig  been  cared  for  by  you 
and  who  have  a  perfect  claim  on  you  as  the  Lord's  poor. 
It  is  a  matter  of  course  with  them,  as  they  never  expect 
again  to  earn  their  bread,  and  have  none  but  you  on 
whom  they  can  rely.  But  there  are  those  among  your 
members  that  you  little  dream  of,  who,  for  certain  reasons, 
are  passing  under  a  cloud  in  their  temporal  matters. 
They  do  not  care  to  come  before  you  as  applicants  for 
aid ;  but  a  little  private  help,  just  for  the  time,  would 
comfort  them  greatly.  I  wish  you  would  make  me  your 
steward  in  this  matter,  and  trust  me  with  a  little' fund  of 
my  own,  to  be  given  'at  my  discretion.  It  will  make  me 
feel  very  rich,  and  you  will  never  be  any  poorer." 

After  the  service,  many  gathered  round  him  and  put 
into  his  hands  three,  five,  and  ten  dollars,  as  they  felt 
able.  When  he  returned  home,  he  showed  hia  long 
purse,  saying,  "  Tliat  end  belongs  to  the  Lord."  One  of 
his  daughters,  who  was  at  home  on  a  visit,  remembers  his 
speaking  ui"  the  cases  he  meant  to  relieve,  saying, "  You 
would  all  be  surprised  if  I  told  you  where  I  am  going  to 
send  a  ton  of  coal  to-morrow."  But  none,  save  Mrs. 
Dunbar,  did  ever  know  where  the  contents  of  that  end  of 
the  purse  went ;  but  we  know  it  was  never  empty.  Thus 
he  sought  ever  to  save  the  feelings  of  the  needy,  and  to 
keep  up  their  self-respect. 


•iff 


v.  ■'■:■!■■  < i.- . 


.  •-?'  >     •■-3-     ,/:■$'> 

■«  '-■*         1 .1  '■'  ^1 


dW 


X  -m^W WW!f''%i-  '^W'W^ir 


C.-fiS*?*''^^  ^jrll;  i^rj!?!..'  ^?t*i»f»!^    ^M"'^    '^»^-i¥*"' "i^Tf]*'    •{>^-^^t!C!^|: 'f^*i^^•%#■>■tl<flM. 


Tt;    T-^: 


*'    ^::. 


■rrr:RCs     W}*'    t*^^^|>; 


■^*'«4:'¥ltK-. 


tc^j. 


CHAPTER  XXIII.      t     *^«6   t*rn^« 


Lttten  of  Sympathy,  Oondolenee  and  Friendahip,  to  Hn.  Charles  S.  Stewart  —  To  De*> 
con  and  tin.  Dexter  —  To  Mrs.  D.  —  Letter  Acknowledging  a  Pieseot  —  To  ReT.  Dr. 
Kenmard. 


MONG  Mr.  Dunbar's  letteri  of  friendship,  illus- 
trating also  his  pastoral  character,  are  several  to 
that  beloved  and  now  sainted  woman,  Mrs. 
Charles  S.  Stewart.  The  following  was  addressed 
to  her  while  she  was  attending  the  sick-bed  of  her 
only  brothw,  then  in  Washington : —  '  . 

**  My  dear  Madam, — Most  sincerely  do  I  regret  the 

distressing  providence  which  has,  for  the  present,  placed 

you  beyond  a  personal  participation   in   that  sympathy, 

which  unfeigned  gratitude,  as  well  as  duty,  dictates  on  my 
part. 

**  But,  dear  Mrs.  S.,  *  It  is  the  Lord ;  let  him  do  as 
seemeth  him  good.'  I  know  that  in  view  of  all  the  vicis- 
situdes through  which  a  wise  and  gracious  God  has  called 
you  to  pass  within  the  last  few  years,  you  may  exclaim, 
*  I  am  the  woman  that  hath  seen  affliction.'  Nevertheless, 
it  still  remains  a  faithful  promise,  *  Whom  the  Lord  lov- 
eth,  he  correcteth  ;  therefore  despise  not  thou  the  chasten- 
ing of  the  Lord,  neither  faint  when  thou  art  rebuked  of 
him.' 

"  I  know  the  sensibility  of  your  heart.  I  have  seen  it 
exemplified  on  more  than  one  mournful  occasion.  I  have 
also  seen  that  as  tliy  day,  so  thy  strength  has  been.     Tl»e 

(231 


LETTER  OP  SYMPATHY. 


227 


God  of  Jacob  has  been  your  reiuge  in  seasons  of  afflio 
tion  and  sorrow  heretofore;  and  depend  upon  it,  dear 
madam,  he  will  not  at  this  time  leave  you  comfortless. 


'^•*>'Hf  <  J- ; 


"  I  cannot  believe  that  this  sickness  is  unto  death  ;  but 
that  the  Son  of  God  may  be  glorified  thereby.  Oh  that 
God  would  graciously  answer  my  poor  petitions  that  his 
soul  may  live,  and  that  his  life  may  be  prolonged  I  You 
cannot  conceive  how  I  have  felt  for  the  last  few  days 
about  him.  I  cannot  banish  from  my  mind  the  hope  that 
dear  Mr.  S.  will  yet  sing  among  the  disciples  of  Christ  as 
poor  Newton  did :  — 

-.^■^■v  *i   :  -^     'Next  door  to  death  he  found  me,  '.:,sr 

And  snatched  me  from  the  graye 
To  tell  to  all  around  me 
His  wondrous  power  to  save/ 

^^  I  trust  the  Saviour  is  choosing  him  in  the  furnace  of 
affliction,  and  that  he  will  soon  exizlaim,  with  the  King  of 
Israel,  *  It  is  good  for  me  that  I  have  been  afflicted,'  &c. 

**  Let  him  think  on  the  sickness  of  King  Hezekiah. 
He  was  sick  unto  deaths  ^nd  yet  God  removed  his  malady, 
pardoned  his  sins,  and  added  to  his  life  fifteen  years.  Oh, 
tell  him  of  that  precious  blood  which  cleanseth  from  all 
tin  !  If  his  conscience  is  yet  burdened,  and  the  adversary 
is  tempting  him  to  despair  of  mercy,  remind  him  of  the 
invitation  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  '  Come  unto  mo  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.' 
'  All  manner  of  sins  shall  be  forgiven  unto  men.'  *  Come, 
let  us  reason  together,  saith  the  Lord.  Though  thy  sins 
be  lis  scarlet,  they  shall  be  made  white  as  snow.'  God 
lias  found  a  ransom  I     Christ  suffered,  shed  his  blood,  and 


228 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


died  for  sinners.  His  obedience,  suiFerings,  and  death 
constitute,  in  the  view  of  Divine  Justice,  a  propitiation,  a 
perfect  atonement  for  all  the  sins  of  such  as  are  made  sen- 
sible by  the  Spirit  of  God  that  they  are  guilty  and  con- 
denmed,  and  unable,  of  themselves,  to  meet  the  awful  de- 
mands of  Jehovah's  violated  law.  This,  you  know,  is 
what  constitutes  the  gospel's  glad  tidings  to  perislung  sin- 
ners, —  *  By  the  obedience  of  one  shall  many  be  made 
righteous.' 

**  Oh,  let  your  dear  brother  reflect  much  on  tlie  amaz- 
ing love  of  the  Son  of  God,  the  Friend  of  Sinners  I 
Above  all,  let  him  ask  the  Holy  Spirit,  for  Christ's  sake, 
to  work  in  his  soul  that  faith  which  is  the  gift  of  God, 
and  which  enables  the  poor  penitent  to  call  Christ,  pardon, 
the  promises,  and  eternal  life,  hia  own  ! 

"  Again,  for  yourself,  dear  Mrs.  S.,  I  have  only  to  add, 
that  your  case  strongly  reminds  me  of  Mary,  when  her 
brother  Lazarus  was  sick.  '  Lord,'  said  she,  *  if  thou 
hadst  been  here,  my  brother  had  not  died.'  Remember 
what  she  added :  *  But  even  now  I  know  that  whatever 
thou  wilt  ask  of  God,  God  will  give  it  thee.'  0  my 
dear  sister,  child  of  affliction,  acquainted  with  grief,  be- 
reaved by  death  of  your  beloved  father  and  mother,  tell 
the  compassionate  Jesus  that  your  brother,  your  only 
brother,  is  sick.  I  know  that  you  do  this,  but  do  it  again, 
and  be  not  discouraged.  Remember  how  Jacob  wrestled, 
and  how  he  prevailed  ;  also  the  importunity  of  the  widow 
before  the  unjust  judge.  Ask  in  faith  without  wavering ; 
God  is  very  gracious,  and  who  can  tell  .  .  ?  May 
the  Great  Physician  undertake  his  case ;  then  all  will  be 
well.  Give  him  again  the  grateful  love  of  an  unwortliy 
servant  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  to  whom  he  has  been  a 
kind  and  aflectionate  friend.     If  my  imperfect  prayers  can 


LGTTEB  OF  8TMPATHT. 


229 


be  admitted  before  the  throne^  through  the  intercession  i  of 
the  glorified  Mediator,  your  heart  and  the  hearts  of  all 
your  beloved  family  will  soon  rejoice  over  a  brother  re- 
stored to  perfect  health,  and  also  redeemed."  '*a»i  aiiynjif 

"  I  felt  last  Monday  morning  as  if  I  must  start  off  to 
see  your  brother.  I  have  had  very  singular  impressions 
respecting  him,  for  M'hich  I  cannot,  at  present,  account." 

Soon  ailer  this  the  faithful  pastor  was  summoned  to 
Washington,  to  what  appeared  to  all  the  bed  of  death. 
But  those  prayers  of  faith  were  not  to  be  denied ;  those 
"  very  singular  impressions  for  which  he  could  not  ac- 
"p;  nt,"  were  evidences  that  they  were  accepted  and  an- 
c.vered.  That  painful  illness  was  not  unto  death,  but  for 
the  glory  of  God,  and  for  the  pastor's  own  exceeding  joy. 
The  life  spared  was  consecrated  to  God,  and  for  many 
long  years  Mr.  Dunbar  found  strength,  wisdom,  and  com- 
panionship in  labor,  in  him  for  whose  recovery  he  had  so 
agonized  with  God ;  and  when  about  to  be  taken  away 
from  the  people  of  his  love,  he  said  to  him,  and  to  others 
of  the  church  who  stood  around  him,  and  who  urged  him  to 
throw  off  all  care  and  to  compose  liis  mind,  "  I  will  leave 
my  soul  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  the  church 
with  you." 

Mr.  Dunbar  wrote  to  Mrs.  Stewart  on  the  occasion  of  the 
death  of  a  dearly  beloved  sister  :  — 


I', , 


"  Alas,  my  dear  sister,  that  so  soon  afler  we  saw  you  so 
joyful  in  the  sanctuary  of  the  Lord,  and  at  the  table  of  a 
Saviour's  dying  love,  you  should  be  called,  by  the  decisions 
of  his  wise,  but  inscrutable  providence,  to  mourning  and 
lamentation.  ....         My  prayers  have 

2U 


230 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


ascended  to  the  Father  Oi  mercies,  that  this  new  and  un- 
looked-for affliction  may  be  graciously  sancti^ed  to  you 
personally,  and  to  all  the  surviving  children  of  beloved 
parents  now  no  more.    '   —.■^■:^-^.^._.^.4.--^.^,,.-^-^..         .     ., 

"  *  How  vain  are  all  things  here  below  I '  and  oh,  how 
good  God  has  been  to  your  as  well  as  to  her  immortal 
soul,  to  give  you  such  an  evidence,  long  before  death  ap- 
proached, that  your  *  dear  sister  H.,'  as  you  all  loved  to 
call  her,  liad  passed  from  death  unto  life  by  the  power  of 
the  Spirit  of  God.  You  firmly  believe  that  she  died  in 
the  Lord,  and  that  it  is  now  well,  eternally  well,  with 
her  soul.  No  vexation  of  spirit  can  ever  more  disturb  her 
peaceful  repose  in  heaven.  Her  last  sigh  has  been  heaved, 
her  last  tear  shed.  Here  we  suffer  grief  and  pain  ;  but  in 
the  mansions  of  glory  above,  the  Lamb,  who  is  in  the  midst 
of  the  throne,  leads  them  to  fountains  of  living  waters, 
and  God  wipes  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes ; '  the  former 
things  ^ave  passed  away.' 

'•'  I  was  deeply  afflicted  to  hear  that  the  news  of  Mr.  S.'s 
Buddun  illness  at  B.  had  fallen  upon  your  ear  before  you  had 
scarcely  taken  your  last  look  of  an  endeared  sister's  mor- 
tal remains.  When  I  heard  of  this  after  the  evening  lec- 
ture, I  thought  of  you  in  connection  with  the  sad  experi- 
ence of  a  man  greatly  beloved  of  his  God,  and  yet  greatly 
tried :  you  remember  his  exclamation  >vhen  addressing  the 
Most  High  in  a  day  of  exces.  .  e  grief, —  *  Thou  hast  afflict- 
ed me  with  wave  r^jon  wave ! '  But  I  well  knew  that  he, 
the  Lord,  would  he  with  you,  as  with  the  sufferers  of  old 
in  the  fiery  furnrce.  Have  you  not  felt  the  everlasting 
arms  placed  und»  rneath  and  around  your  poor,  wounded, 
careworn  heart  during  this,  as  well  as  former  bereavo 
mcnts  ?  Oh,  how  tender  are  the  mercies  of  our  covenant 
God,  our  incarnate  Redeemer !  ,  ,  , 


LETTER  OP  SYMPATHY. 


231 


flt..  -.^^  ;Si)*SV-->''  ^ 


•  4ti»$£0»J^'^#i^In  all  thy  afflictions,  thy  Head  feels  the  pain  ;       rOjm-j' 
■■smii^^mth--  ^^^  ^^  *"*  °**^ needful ;  not  one  is  in  vain.'    j^^s^.  fm^m.' 

**  May  the  Lord  Jesus  be  with  you,  and  may  yon  come 
out  of  this  new  furnace,  like  *  gold  seven  times  tried.'  "    ? 

From  a  letter  of  sympathy  written  by  Mr.  Dunbar,  in 

1852,  to  Deacon  and  Mrs.  Dexter,  of  South  Boston,  on 

the  death  of  their  only  daughter,  we  maku  the  following 
extracts  ••—        ■"''■'  jiuiv-   </!•  .>4<-;/tr-«».«+-f  i*i..v«^,'''  v.«t'?5M».  jp«»«s-< 

"  .  .  We  know  the  depth  of  such  a  wound 
as  that  which  a  wise  and  gracious  God  has  inflicted  on 
your  hearts  ;  but  we  also  know  how  wonderfully  the  ten- 
der-hearted, compassionate  Jesus  can  support  the  sinking 
spirits  of  surviving  mourners,  and,  in  spite  of  themselves, 
dry  up  and  wipe  away  all  their  tears  ;  and,  knowing  this 
by  sad  and  sweet  experience,  we  could  and  did  implore  and 
beseech  him,  that  he  would  in  like  manner  visit  and  re- 
lieve and  heal  each  of  your  wounded  hearts. 

"  Oh,  how  affecting,  and  yet  how  cheering,  to  think  of 
that  dear,  sweet,  dying  child  saying  to  her  weeping  father, 

*  I  want  to  go  to  Jesus !  *  .  .  No  doubt,  my  dear 
brother  and  sister,  that  her  precious  soul  is  now  mingling  in 
seraph  strains  with  Ihe  holy  and  happy  multitudes  who 
surround  the  throne  of  God  and  of  the  Lamb,  beholding 
and  adoring  the  dear  God-Man  who  said,  *  Suffer  the  little 
ones  to  come  unto  me.'  Well,  there  she  is,  looking 
at  the  wounds  in  his  hands  and  feet  and  bless^^d  temples, 
and  at  his  bleeding  side  I  .  .  Till  a  few  days  be- 
fore her  translation  to  glory,  the  blessed  God,  her  Creator, 
suffered  her  to  enjoy  the  sweet,  innocent  pleasures  which 
childhood  is  mercifiilly  permitted  to  indulge  in,  in  this  vale 
of  tears.  Her  days  vif  sickness  and  pain  w»re  compara- 
tively few,  and  soon  endsd.  God  ordained  that  from  a  dear, 
fond  mother's  lips,  from  a  father's  family  prayers,  in  His 


£82 


m  DUNCAN  DUNBAB^t 


K>? 


sanctuary,  and  in  the  Sabbath  school,  she  should  hear  the 
name  of  Jesus.  Yes,  with  her  own  eyes,  before  death  was 
suffered  to  mark  her  as  one  of  his  early  victims,  infinite 
wisdom  designed  that  she  should  see  and  read  her  Redeem- 
er's  name,  and  something  of  his  love  and  of  his  suffer- 
ings and  death  on  tJie  cross,  And  just  before  he  took  lier 
home  to  his  bosom,  and  to  his  everlasting  kingdom  of  glory, 
the  Holy  Spirit  was  sent  to  bring  all  these  things  to  her 
remembrance.  .  .  And  now  it  is  all  over.  She 
is  forever  happy  and  secure  in  the  arms  of  God  her  Sav- 
iour. Her  work  on  earth  is  done ;  but  you  will  say, 
*  What  work?'  Oh,  did  she  not  with  her  dying  breath 
preach  and  proclaim  Jesus  ?  She  was  sent  to  do  that  very 
thing  which  thousands  upon  thousands  who  have  lived  to 
a  great  age  have  never  been  known  to  do,  living  or  dying 
—  she  confessed  the  Son  of  God,  her  confidence  in  him, 
and  her  dying  desire  to  go  to  him.         .         .  =  -*h  ., 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  this  heavy  stroke  from  the  Lord's 
merciful  hand,  painful  and  sad  as  it  may  now  feel,  will  be 
sanctified  and  blessed  to  each  of  you  for  your  good.  May 
it  also  be  sanctified  to  us,  your  affectionate,  sympathizing 
friends.    .....ir, ,  ■:».-;.       /  m, 

'  The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste. 
But  sweet  will  be  the  flower.' 

**  Your  very  affectiona-e  friend, 

^  Duncan  Dunbar." 

In  January,  1864,  when  the  father  of  this  dear  child 
was  suddenly  removed  from  earth,  Mr.  Dunbar  wrote 
thus  to  his  afflicted  widow :  — 

r  "  My  dear,  afflicted,  and  bereaved  Mrs.  D.,  — 
,  »  , ,  .  Ob,  how  mysterious  and  inscrutable 
are  the  ways  c>f  God,  and  his  dealings  with  the  children  of 
men  I 


LBTTER  TO  MR3.  DIZTEB. 


288 


**  I  deeply  and  sincerely  sympathize  with  you  and  your 
dear  sons  in  the  loss  of  such  a  husband  and  father  ,  and 
yet  since  it  was  manifestly  the  Lord's  will  at  that  time 
and  in  that  way  to  call  to  his  rest  in  the  kingdom  of 
heaven    his  dear  faithful  servant,  why  should  you,   my 
dear,  afflicted  sister  in  Christ,  why  should  his  now  father^ 
less  children  sorrow  as  those  who  have  no  hope? 

**  You  know,  and  all  who  knew  dear  Deacon  Dexter  will 
admit,  that  he  was  a  man  of  God ;  that  the  Lord  Jesus 
honored  and  employed  him  long  in  his  vineyard  on  earth. 
You  know  also  that  he  was  honored  and  beloved,  and  will 
long  be  lamented  by  many  true  friends  of  the  Saviour  far 
beyond  the  bounds  of  the  one  church  where  G  xl  assigned 
him  his  work  for  so  many  years  of  his  life.     I  can  assure 
you  that  dear  Mr.  Daxter's  worth  was  appreciated  far 
beyond   what  you  or  any  of  his  immediate  family  or 
even  himself  could  hear  of  or  know.     But  you   know 
how  sadly  his  loss  will  be  felt  in  the  church   at  South 
Boston.         .         .         .         .         .  I  do  not  wonder, 

and  surely  I  do  not  blame  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dexter,  if 
you  mourn  and  long  mourn  the  loss  of  such  a  husband,  and 
your  dear  sons  the  loss  of  such  a  father.     They  will  long 
lament  the  want  of  his  wise  and  prudent  counsel  and  safe 
advice  even  in  the  affairs  of  this  life.     Happy  now  for  t.^em 
that  they  uniformly  sought  and  yielded  to  the  advice  of 
such  father  1         .         .         .         .     He  has   indeed   left 

them  a  great,  a  double  inheritance,  a  good  name  and  a 
good  example.  His  praj'ers  for  them  and  for  you  are 
now  ended,  but  they  are  not  yet  all  answered.  You  shall, 
as  long  as  each  of  you  lives,  reap  returns  from  heaven  tor 
the  many  petitions  which  his  heart  and  lips  sent  there 
before  him  for  you  all.  You  and  they  are  by  no  means 
the  only  ones  who  weep  and  mourn  over  his  departure. 

20* 


234 


«   DUNCAN  DUNBAR.  M 


I  too,  have  lost  a  friend.  I  am  sure  tliat  I  loved  hiiu. 
and  I  Ljve  abundant  reason  to  believe  that  he  loved  me. 
Hti«*i^™**  2  >  *^  Well,  all  we  can  say  is,  *  The  Lord  took 
him.*  I  have  not  a  moment's  doubt  that  he  is  now  with 
Christ  and  all  the  redeemed  in  the  mansions  of  glory.  I 
know  the  Lord  will  sustain  you.  You  have  tried  him  be- 
fore in  days  of  calamity  and  sadness.  .  .  We  all 
love  and  pity  you,  and  a  gracious  God  will  surely  sustain 
and  heal  your  wounded  heart."         ... 

As  a  friend,  Mr.  Dunbar  was  nrm  and  affectionate. 
Where  he  loved,  he  loved  to  the  end ;  and  when  death 
removed  his  friends,  his  interest  still  lived  for  their 
children  and  even  for  their  grandchildren,  he  always 
feeling  that  these  had  a  strong  claim  on  him  for  the  sake 
of  the  dead.  In  times  of  sorrow  and  perplexity  how 
many  such  have  found  in  him  a  father  and  a  consoler !  In 
this  sense  his  family  was  a  very  large  one  ;  but  there  was 
always,  room  in  his  heart  for  more. 

To  a  member  of  his  church,  residing  on  the  Hudson, 
Mr.  Dunbar  wrote  in  acknowledgment  of  a  present :  — 

"  My  dear,  good  Brother, —  It  was  very  kind  and  con- 
siderate in  you  to  send  your  poor  old  pastor  and  friend  such  a 
valuable  present  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth.  I  pray  that  *  your 
bams  may  every  year  be  filled  with  plenty.'  .  .  Your 
present  is  doubly  dear  to  me,  as  it  gives  tangible  assurance 
that  yoiT  think  of  me  although  too  far  distant  to  profit  by  my 
pastoral  labors.  .  .  I  certainly  desire  to  see  you  and 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  that  young  lady  whom  you 
have  chosen  to  make  your  companion  for  life.  May  the 
God  of  Abraham  bless  you  both  and  make  you  helpers  of 
each  other's  joy,  in  your  pilgrimage  through  a  world  of 


LETTER  TO  REV.   DR.   KENNARD. 


235 


Strange  vicissitudes,  to  *the  rest  that  remaineth  for  th^i 
people  of  God.'  -*#  ^  -  -^..^i^m  ^mi-w^  smM^^^immf^  ^^^ 
"  By  the  way,  what  of  that  Baptist  interest  you  and  I 
were  to  inaugurate  at  B.  ?  I  helieve,  howeve- ,  the  attempt 
was  only  to  be  made  when  I  became  too  old  to  be  of  any  U99 
in  the  city  !  I  hope  you  are  both  living  near  to  God,  by 
ttiuoh  secret  and  family  prayer,  and  by  much  reading  and 
meditation  of  the  Holy  Scriptures.  Cast  all  your  cares 
on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.     He  careth  for  you. 

'*  Don't  be  discouraged  either  for  the  ultimate  salvation 
of  our  dear  country,  or  the  final  triumph  of  the  cause  and 
kingdom  of  our  blessed  Redeemer. 

'Load  roaring,  the  billows  would  thee  overwhelm,  ,t; ,#'?«,,,' ,■  ;? 

;,j.      But  skilful's  the  Pilot  that  sits  at  the  helm  ;  j,-   <.-.,.C^if 

His  wisdom,  and  power,  and  faithfulness  stand.  .  ......         .    ■ 

Engaged  to  conduct  thee  in  safety  to  land.' " 

To  show  the  brotherly  feeling  Mr.  Dunbar  cherished 
toward  ministers  with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  intimacy, 
we  give  extracts  from  letters  to  one  of  his  oldest  and  most 
endeared  friends,  Rev.  Dr.  Kennard,  of  Philadelphia :  — 

"  My  very  DEAR  Brother  Kennard,  —  This  is  Mon- 
day morning.  Your  note  by  the  poor  Irish  lad  was  deliv- 
ered to  me  yesterday.  I  thank  you  for  this  and  for  every 
opportunity  you  may  afibrd  me  of  showing  any  kindness 
to  strangers  in  the  name  of  the  stranger's  God  ;  and  I 
thank  you,  in  the  name  of  the  good  Samaritan,  for  all  that 
you  are  doing  from  time  to  time  for  such  homeless,  friend- 
less creatures.  *  Blessed  is  he  that  considereth  the  poor ; 
for  the  Lord  will  dehver  him  in  the  time  of  trouble.'     * "^^ 


"  I  know  your  time  must  be  occupied,  you  dear  working 
soul ;  but  cannot  you  lean  your  poor,  tired  head  upon  the 


236 


.OAA)r    DUNCAN   !>(TMBAR.     ''^^'^■-l 


sdii,  and  dictate  to  one  of  my  dear  young  friends  who  call 

you  '  father,'  and  let  her  write  ?     I  want  to  know  how 

you  are  now. 

•         •         •         •         •         •  • 

"  Keep  up  your  courage,  you  dear  man ;  for  I  have  no 
idea  that  your  work  in  the  Saviour's  vineyard  is  done  yet, 
by  a  great  deal !  May  the  Lord  Jesus  be  with  your 
spirit  I 

•  •  •  •  •  •  •<'* 

"  God  willing,  I  will  be  with  you  at  the  Philadelphia 
Association,  and  can  preach  for  the  firfends  at  Budd  Street 
the  first  Lord's  day  in  October.  Of  this,  please  inform 
them.  Say,  also,  that  I  sincerely  sympathize  with  them  aa 
a  church,  under  their  present  deprivation  of  the  faithful 
labors  of  their  dear,  afflicted  pastor.  May  the  God  of 
love  graciously  sustain  our  beloved  brother  Dodge,  now 
a  prisoner  and  a  sufferer !  If  it  be  the  Lord's  will,  may  he 
yet  be  restored  to  his  people,  and  spared  to  his  dear  family 
for  a  great  while  to  come.  If  the  dear  man  is  in  a  condi- 
tion to  be  seen  and  spoken  to,  by  all  means  do  me  the 
additional  favor  to  call  and  convey  to  him  these  expressions 
of  my  love  and  sympathy.  The  day  may  soon  come,  my 
dear  brother,  when  a  sorrowful  wife  and  children  will 
bend  over  you  and  me,  and  behold  us  suftering  and  sink- 
ing, without  the  power  to  relieve  us,  or  to  prolong  life. 

"  Since  my  return  home,  my  hands  have  been  more 
than  full,  visiting  the  sick,  and  trying  to  dispose  of  some 
five  or  six  strangers  whom  the  God  of  the  strpnger  has 
thrown  upon  me,  as  he  lately  sent  upon  you  poor  bi'other 

,  with  scores  of  others,  no  doubt,  of  whoai  I  know 

nothing.     But  He  knows  all  about  it,  and  if  they  are  dear 
to  the  Lord  Jesus,  as  most  of  those  who  favor  us  with 


LETTERS. 


237 


calls  in  their  distress  profess  to  be,  the  day  is  not  far  dis- 
tant when  he  will  say  unto  you,  before  angels  and  men, 
'  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  to  one  of  the  least,'  &c.,  *  ye 
have  done  it  unto  me.'  May  you  be  like  David's  ox,  — 
'  strong  to  labor '  in  such  work ;  may  neither  of  us  be 
'%eary  in  well-doing.'  Surely  it  ought  to  be  regarded  as 
a  mark  of  God's  approbation,  when  he  sends  little  jobs  of 
this  nature  to  do  for  him.     Think  of  this  I 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  learn,  my  dear  brother,  how  poorly 
you  have  been.  Blessed  be  your  gracious  Physician^  I 
hope  to  see  you  again  in  the  land  of  the  living.         .„p 

"  Thank,  for  me,  the  young  lady  whose  nimble  qufll  so 
handsomely  figured  upon  the  sheet  I  received  from  you 
before  the  last ;  and  do  not  let  me  forget  to  send  love  to 
Uttle  Miss  B.     God  bless  you  all  I 


it  ,-i 


fMIOjCT 


"  Much  joy  to  you  and  dear  Mrs.  K.  on  the  loss  of  a 
daughter  and  the  gain  of  a  son,  since  I  saw  you  last. 
May  the  Lord  abundantly  bless  the  dear  young  pair,  and 
have  them  continually  under  the  shadow  of  his  wing  ! 

"  If  I  don't  visit  you  soon,  I  fear  some  of  the  rest  will 
he  running  off  from  their  mother !  I  must  go  on  and  see 
about  these  matters  I 

"  Oh,  my  dear  brother,  how  gracious  the  Lord  is  and 
has  been  to  your  family  and  mine,  so  far  I  Instead  of 
losing  our  children  by  death,  as  many  parents  do.  He  is 
disposing  of  one  now,  and  one  then,  where  we  know  they 
are  happy,  and  where  we  can  see  and  hear  from  them. 
He  has  graciously  begun  with  yours,  and  will  doubtless  go 
on,  as  he  has  already  with  mine."    ..:.••• 


m 


^jfisfrs.  1 


I  ! 


'i-»,!(:.r 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


■i;:"i>5f  oi  Hi)'  T' 


^i(  i;  '7/ 


Tend«nifM  aa  «  Fattaar — The  Midnight  Prayer — ftanily  LetUn. 

)R.  DUNBAR  was  a  most  prayerful  and  aflfection- 
ate  father,  tenderly  regardful  of  the  temporal  and 
spiritual  interests  of  his  children.       '     ' '  ■  •'  ' 

"  A  few  years  since,"  writes  one  of  his  daugh- 
ters, "  I  was  at  home,  sick  and  suffering  intense 
pain.  One  night  my  dear  father  said  to  me,  *  Now  that 
you  are  a  little  easier,  I  want  you  to  lie  down  in  your 
mother's  bed.  When  a  little  child,  you  used  to  think 
you  would  be  well  if  you  could  only  sleep  there.  Try 
it  to-night,  and  see  if  it  does  not  help  you.  I  will  sit 
down  beside  you  and  read ;  if  you  need  anything,  you  can 
speak  to  me.*  I  did  so,  and  tried  to  bear  my  intense  suf- 
fering quietly.  He  thought  me  sleeping.  Long  after 
midnight,  he  closed  his  Bible,  and  prayed  in  an  audible 
whisper  in  Gaelic,  of  which,  of  course,  I  understood  not  a 
word.  After  this,  he  prayed  in  English,  and  that  earnest, 
agonizing  pleading  I  shall  never  forget.  This  was,  doubts 
less,  the  hour  devoted  to  supplication  with  reference  to  his 
own  spiritual  needs.  The  words  were  few,  but  often 
repeated :  *  O  God,  have  mercy,  have  mercy,  have  mercy, 
upon  me  I  For  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ's  sake^  have  mercy 
upon  me.  I  plead  for  mercy  through  the  blood  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  alone  I  Have  mercy,  have  mercy  upon 
my  soul  1 '  As  I  lay  upon  that  pillow,  hallowed  by  his 
prayers  and  midnight  communings  with  God,  my  tears 

(238) 


t^A    LETTEBS.    ttrt 


289 


flowed  fiwt,  and  I  thought, '  If  the  righteous  scarcely  be 
saved,  where  shall  I,  so  weak  and  faithless,  appear  ?  * 
Then  he  slipped  softly  out  of  the  room  to  seek  sleep  else- 
where, that  I  might  find  what  rest  I  could  beside  my 
tender  mother.  Notwithstanding  all  the  loving-kindness 
which  has  followed  me  since  the  day  I  have  called  an- 
other house  than  his  *  my  home,'  I  have  often,  often  looked 
back  and  longed  to  be  a  child  again,  that  I  might  enjoy 
the  love  and  perfect  sympathy  that  were  ours  when  little 
children."  w*.  r  ,:  -.vi..-.  U^  ^rr^  -.  /r-    .?v*m»'vM'" 

The  following  letter  was  written  under  a  little  toacli 
of  home-sickness  perhaps,  after  leaving  New  York  for 
the  first  time,  and  before  his  family  had  joined  hin? :  — 

,.-    .  "  South  Boston,  Jan.  12,  1844. 

"  My   dear    K.,  —  You  cannot  conceive  how  thank- 
fiil  I  felt  for  your  kind  letter.     I  really  began  to  feel  soli 
tary,  sad,  lonely  and  homesick ;   and  your  note,  though 
short,  was  worth  fifty  dollars  to  my  poor,  careworn  mind. 
Write  oftien. 

"  I  feel  as  if  the  ties  which  had  been  cementing  me  for 
many  years  to  those  tried  Christian  A-iends  in  New  York 
were  now,  at  least  for  the  present,  all '  ^ra  asunder.  '  I  am 
like  a  sparrow  upon  the  house-tops,  alone.'  The  account 
you  send  me  of  the  great  kindness  of  our  friends  to  jou 
in  my  absence  makes  me  wish  I  were  near  enough  to 
thank  them  a  thousand  times  for  the  deep  interest  they 
lately  manifested  in  the  welfare  of  the  church,  and  the  un- 
wearied and  affectionate  sympathy  shown  to  us  as  a  fam- 
ily. I  now  begin  to  fear  that  we  never  sufficiently  knew 
and  appreciated  their  worth  aj  faithful,  steadfast  friends. 
Do  not  fail  to  express  to  deai  Mrs.  I.  my  most  grateful 
thanks  for  her  kindness  since  I  left.      May  a  gracious 


240 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


Providence  richly  reward  her  1  Tell  her,  her  dear  hu^ 
band  was  waiting  at  the  steamboat  to  see  me  off,  the  day 
I  left  New  York.  For  that  mark  of  his  kind  respect,  and 
the  generous  message  which  he  whispered  in  my  ear  as  he 
parted  with  me,  I  shall  ever  love  and  remember  him. 
May  I  soon  be  called  to  New  York  to  bury  him  with 
Christ  in  baptism  I "  *  =;    -•         . 

To  one  of  his  daughters  he  writes :  —  ^  >. 

!ji  Ti  '  "  Home,  Tuesday  Evening. 

"  My  Dear,  — We  are  all  sorry  you  are  suffering  from 
that  cruel  inflammatory  rheumatism ;  but  try  and  exercise 
all  the  patience  the  Lord  may  give  you  in  ans'.ver  to 
prayer.  Be  sure  and  keep  up  ycur  spirits,  trusting  in  the 
goodness  of  the  **  :viour,  who  knows  what  bodili/ pain  is^ 
as  well  as  mental  distress,  and  that  of  the  most  over- 
whelming, excruciating  nature Surely  he  has  not 

divested  himself  of  the  power  with  which  he  healed  '  all 
manner  of  diseases,'  when  here  on  earth  —  nor  are  his 
bowels  of  compassion  shut  up,  which  so  readily  moved 
here  at  the  sight  of  human  suffering.  It  was  long  after 
he  took  his  3eat  on  the  mediatorial  throne  that  his  blessed 
spirit  directed  an  apostle  to  write,  *  Is  any  afflicted  ? 
—  let  him  pray.'  I  tell  you,  my  dear  daughter,  it  is  not 
g  vain  thing  to  ask  the  Lord  Jesus  now  in  heaven  to  heal 
our  bodily  diseases  I  He  often  sends  these,  for  they  are 
his  servants,  to  bring  us  by  necessity  to  speak  to  him. 
He  loves,  oh  I  he  loves  to  hear  from  souls  that  he  has 
redeemed ;  and  when  all  things  go  well  with  them  here, 
they  have  often  little  or  nothing  to  say  to  him.  Hence 
he  sends  off,  as  despatches  from  his  presence,  some  mental 
or  corporeal  affliction,  just  to  compel  us  to  open  our 
mouths  wide^  that  he  may  get  to  hiTnself  glory  in  our 

1  These  wore  the  firiendi  at  whose  houie  Mr.  Dunb;vr  died. 


^,^  LETTEBS..;^.,,j 


m 


grateful  thanks  and  praise  for  filling  them.  Depend 
upon  it,  it  is  even  so.  Ask  Him,  then.  *  Ask,  and  you 
shall  receive.'  'Whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  in  my  name, 
the  Father  will  give  it  you.'    .     .     .     .  ;.  ...  j.,..^'' 

!i>  yv<iti*  ,/rfi,.;V,  :  ^„  ju  "Home,  Tuesday,  1  o'clock,  P.M.  „, 
"  My  deab  Daughtee, —  In  hasty  reply  to  one  part  of  your 
welcome  letter  r.f  yesterday,  let  me  say,  '  for  I  love  to  heal 
broken  bones,'  cheer  up,  you  poor,  dear  soul.  Your  very 
consciousness  of  deadness  and  darkness  and  unfeelingness 
and  want  of  faith,  love,  confidence,  gratitude,  ever^  thing, 
is  to  me  a  very  clear  proof  that  God  the  Spirit  has  put  life 
into  your  soul,  to  see,  to  feel,  to  condemn  yourself.  Did  ever 
one  child  of  Adam  since  the  fall,  see  and  acknowledge,  and 
lament  or  disapprove  of  such  things  as  grieve  you,  except 
those  souls  that  are  sa^i  ^gly  quickened  by  God's  grace,  to 
see  '  the  plague  of  their  own  hearts  ? '  '  To  will  is  pres- 
ent with  me,  but  how  to  perform.'  &c.  'Tis  a  great  part 
of  the  %anctifying  work  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  show  regen 
erate  souls  the  emptiness,  the  vanity,  the  vileness,  the  hard- 
ness, the  stupidity,  the  ingratitude,  the  desperate  wicked- 
ness of  their  own  hearts,  that  they  may  be  driven  bi/  ne- 
cemty  to  Jesus,  the  crucified,  —  to  his  blood,  his  merit,  for 
justification  before  God,  having  nothing  in  themselves  on 
which  they  can  lean  or  rely,  and  to  see  and  feel  this,  or 
else  they  will  never  appreciate  the  Lamb  of  God  as  he  is 
set  forth  in  the  gospel.  Oh  for  time  to  say  more  I  My 
poor  heart  is  full.     God's  presence  attend  you  I       .       ,  ** 

To  one  of  his  chi'dren,  who  while  absent  from  home 
indulged  a  trembling  hope  in  Christ,  Mr.  Dunbar  wrote  : — 

"  New  York,  Wednesday  Noon. 

"  My  very  dear ,  Your  aftectionate  letter  to  your 

mother  and  myself  was  received  yesterday  afternoon.    We 

bless  God,  my  dear ,  that  your  thoughts  are  still  occupied 

tl 


242 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


with  the  concerns  of  yoiir  soul ;  for  we  knew  that  joxa 
visit,  under  circumstances  so  exciting,  had  a  tendency  to 
dissipate  gracious  impressions  and  lead  you  to  grieve  the 
Spirit  of  God.  It  will,  however,  tend  to  convince  you,  by 
painful  experience,  that  *  the  heart  is  deceitful  above  all 
things,'  and  that  you  have  need  every  moment  to  *  watch 
and  be  sober.'     For, 

'  Of  all  the  foes  we  meet, 
None  so  apt  to  turn  our  feet, 
None  betray  us  into  sin, 
i  Like  the  foes  we  have  within.  ,         ... 


M't 


t    1. 


*  But  let  nothing  spoil  your  peace,       ■-  ' 
\  Christ  will  also  conquer  these ;        f  ^^.     - 

Then  the  joyful  news  will  come, 
Child,  your  Father  calls,  come  homt !  * 

**  You  will  yet  learn  more  and  more  of  the  weakness,  the 
vanity,  the  sinful  forgetfulness  of  the  soul,  after  all  that  the 
blessed  Spirit  of  a  Holy  God  h.^s  "lone  in  opening  your  eyes 
and  changing  your  will.  I  beg  of  you  ever  to  remember, 
however,  that  your  pardon  and  the  justification  of  your 
soul  before  God  is  one  thing,  and  the  sanctification  of  the 
powers  and  faculties  of  that  soul  is  altogether  another  and 
a  very  different  thing.  The  first  of  these,  pardon  and  jus- 
tification, we  obtain  and  may  be  assured  of,  from  the  mo- 
ment we  really  believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  It  is  al- 
together on  his  account  and  for  his  sake  that  our  sins  are 
forgiven,  and  that  God  becomes  at  once  and  forever  recon- 
ciled to  us,  —  notwithstanding  all  we  have  ever  done  to  of- 
fend him,  and  notwithstanding  our  remaining  ignorance, 
imperfection  in  holiness,  and  proneness  to  forget  and  wan- 
der firom  him  in  our  minds  and  affections.  The  sufferings 
to  be  endured  and  the  spotless  and  holy  obedience  to  bo 
rendered  to  Jehovah's  righteous  law,  before  pardon  cfulci 


.« '  '  T^ETTERa; 


243 


come  to  us  rebels  and  transgressors,  were  all  endured  and 
rendered  for  us,  and  in  our  stead,  by  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
God's  only  dear  and  well-beloved  Son.  Hence  the  plain 
meaning  of  such  precious  Scriptures  as  the  following : 
*  Christ  suffered  for  us,  the  just  for  the  unjust.'  '  Christ 
loved  us,  and  gave  himself  for  w«,  an  offering  and  a  sac- 
rifice to  God.'  '  Christ  died  for  our  sins.*  *  We  have  re- 
demption through  his  blood,  even  the  forgiveness  of  our 
sins.'  '  He  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions,  he  was 
bruised  for  our  iniquities.'  •.- 

"  Now,  my  dear,  if  you  believe  this,  you  will  feel  that 
you  are  justified  by  faith  (or  believing),  and  will  assured- 
ly feel  that  you  have  peace  with  God,  through  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.     But  the  sanctification  of  your  soul,  as  I 
said  before,  is  quite  a  diflPerent  matter.     To  procure  for 
guilty,  lost,  and  hell-deserving  sinnere  of  mankind,  free 
and  full  pardon,  acceptance  with  God,  and  eternal  life,  the 
blessed  Son  of  God  had  to  act  and  suffer  and  die.     And 
whosoever  beheveth  this  record  or  testimony  concerning 
him,  shall  never  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life,  as  the 
free  gift  of  God,  for  Christ's  sake.     But,  after  the  soul  be- 
lieveth,  af^er    the  disposition  of  the   mind  and  heart  is 
turned  toward  God  and  holiness,  the  work  of  sanctifica- 
tion has  to  be  carried  on   by  the  Spirit  of  God,  and  is  at 
best  but  a  work  just  begun.     It  will  sometime!  be  going 
forward,  m  the  judgment  of  your  feelings,  and  Sometimes 
going  backward.     There   is  so  much  corruption  yet  re- 
maining in  the  heart,  to  be  purged  and  overcome,  that  when 
you  discover  this,  and  long  to  be  rid  of  it,  Satan,  who  is  a 
liar,  will  strongly  impress  upon  your  mind  tluit  there  is  no 
grace  at  all  in  your  heart —  that  God  never  awakened  or 
called  you  by  his  Spirit  —  that  you  need  not  hope  to  be 
Bavod  or  accepted  of  God  while  such  contrary  feelings  are 


244 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


existing  in  your  soul ;  and  that  you  must  be  holy  and  pGr« 
and  perfectly  free  from  all  these  contrary  things,  before 
you  can  hope  that  Christ  will  save  you  or  hear  your  pray- 
ers. ,it  A     .,,,!•■     ,1.     ;.<•!, .-•   ■'v  ,r-.     ■.n, >!■■■•   •  ■     ^''.Irf-     'ti'.    •'  WfiTv,     v. 

:..  "  Thousands  of  poor,  trembling,  sincere  souls,  have  been 
painfully  tossed  upon  those  billows,  without  comfort  and 
but  little  hope,  just  because  they  neglected  to  learn,  from 
the  word  of  God,  the  great  and  important  distinction  be- 
tween the  work  of  Christ  for  our  salvaiion  and  the  work 
of  the  Spirit  for  our  aanctijlcation.  When  Christ  gave  up 
the  ghost  on  Calvary,  the  work  of  our  redemption  and  sal- 
vation was  finished  and  completed  forever  ;  nothing  more 
is  to  be  done  by  Him,  and  nothing  can  be  done,  by  any  of 
us  sinners,  to  make  that  great  salvation  more  secure.  We 
receive  it  and  the  coftifort  of  it,  by  believing^  believing^ 
believing.  '  He  that  believeth  shall  not  come  into  con- 
demnation.'     ^  He  that  believeth  shall  not  make  haste.' 

*  He  that  believeth  shall  not  be  confounded.'  *  By  faith 
(believing')  ye  stand.'  *  It  is  by  faith^  that  it  might  be 
of  G»ACE.'     'It  is /aiYA  that  purifieth  the  heart '  —  that 

*  worketh  by  love  '  —  that  '  ov  jrcometh  the  world '  — 
and  '  without  faith  it  is  impossible  to  please  God.'  We 
must  look  unto  Jesus  by  prayer,  as  the  Autho»*  and  Fin- 
isher of  this  faith.  It  *  cometh  by  hearing.'  You  must, 
therefore,  as  a  new-born  babe,  desire  (read  and  meditate 
upon)  the  milk  of  the  word,  that  you  may  grow  thereby. 
When  the  work  of  sanctification  is  carried  on  in  youi 
Boul,  you  will  often  feel  the  remaining  hardness  of  your 
heart,  your  dreadful  ignorance  of  the  things  of  God  and 
of  your  duty.  You  will  also  feel  sinful  inclinations  rising 
up  within ;  you  will  murmur  and  be  impatient,  and  you 
may  even  fret  against  God  for  creating  you  or  anything  else, 
or  fur  allowing  sin  to  enter  the  world.    You  may,  moi cover, 


a     LETTERS.  '^^<« 


245 


feel  tempted  to  question  whether  there  is  a  God,  <«• 
whether  all  that  is  revealed  is  not  a  mere  fiction.  You 
may  be  left  to  fear  that  you  have  done  despite  to  the 
Spirit  of  grace,  and  that  you  need  not  hope,  evermore,  to 
enjoy  comfort  ot  peace  of  mind ;  and  to  feel  that  religion 
is  irksome,  without  any  pleasure ;  and  that  you  had  better 
give  up  at  once  and  go  back  to  yoar  former  enjoyments. 
But  ail  this  comes  from  the  wicked  one,  of  whose  devices 
you  are  yet  comparatively  ignorant. 

"  You  are  but  a  babe  in  Christ,  in  knowledge,  in  expe- 
rience. Search  the  word  of  God.  *  Think  it  not  strange 
concerning  the  fiery  trial  which  is  to  try  you,  as  though 
some  strange  thing  happened  unto  you.'  '  Now,  for  a 
season,  if  need  be,  you  are  in  heaviness  through  manifold 
temptations.'  *  But  the  Lord  is  faithful,  who  will  not 
suffer  you  to  be  tempted  above  that  ye  are  able,  but  will, 
with  the  temptation,  also  make  a  way  of  escape,  that  ye 
may  be  able  to  bear  it.' 

''  Read  this  hunied  epistle  over  and  over,  and  oh,  may 
the  Spirit  of  all  grace  show  you  that  your  salvation  de- 
pends not  on  what  you  feel,  but  upon  what  you  believe, 
—  even  upon  Jesus  Christ  and  him  crucified,  —  *  the  end 
of  the  law  for  righteousness,  to  every  one  'hat  believeth.' 

"  God  blesfl  you,  my  dear  child,  and  *  give  you  joy  and 
peace  in  believing.'  Take  a  great  deal  of  love  and  sym- 
pathy from  your  affcc*tionate  mother  and  sisters.  We  shall 
all  remember  you  bef       the  mercy-seat.      «  ''"'    ' 

"  Your  dear  and  very  affection;   v>  father, 

'  "  Duncan  Dunbae.  ' 

On  the  death  of  his  only  sister  he  wrote :  — 

"My  own  deae  Daughter,  —  I  thank  you  for  your 
sympathy  and   affectionate   remembrance  in  my  late  be- 

21  * 


246 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


reavement,  —  the  death  of  my  poor,  affiiottd,  a7?d  odIv  sis- 
ter. God  l.as  graciously  borne  me  up  a^  en  ea^de's  ^vings 
above  all  that  has  ever  befallen  me ,  bul  this  last  kr.  ^k 
at  my  door  sounds  loilder  th&i;  mai?)  forrr>3r  paiiioirii: 'As 
of  his  providence.  Sue  was  my  juniur  by  two  years; 
since  she  is  taken,  why  am  I  leil? 

"  Perhaps  I  may  be  reared  a  good  while  to  talte  c,  re 
of  her  poor  invalid  orphan,  Vj  Illif?,  and  also  of  my  own 
dear  M.  Why,  dear  me  I  I  reallv  fcei  that  t  >  moro  the 
Lord  laT  i  on  roj  shoulders,  the  broader  ^md  stronger  he 
^iiakei!  them  1     As  my  day,  so  my  strength  is. 

**  liove  to  all  my  boys,  from  their  affectionate 

t  "Grandfather." 

To  one  of  his  family,  who  was  in  trial  and  perplexity 
he  wrote :  — 

"  Smely,  my  dear  ,  one  line,  though  written 

hastily,  and  with  pencil,  is  better  than  no  letter  at  all 
from  poor  '  Grandpa.'  Well,  I  am  somewhat  better  as 
to  the  hurt  I  ij;ot  from  the  pole  of  the  omnibus.  My  cold 
is  also  better,  so  that  I  preached  once  last  Lord's  day. 

Oh,  how  I  did  v/ish  that  you  and  dear had  been 

with  me  to  nurse  me  a  little  1  '   ; 

*'  As  to  your  own  affairs,  —  *  do  nothing  rashly '  —  (to  ivn 
clerk  of  Ephesus).  Keep  still,  believe,  hope,  wait.  *  To 
everything  there  is  a  season,  and  a  time  to  every  pra'pose.' 
*  The  Lord  reign  eth,'  let  that  be  enough  for  you  I  One 
said,  '  He  kno^eth  the  way  that  I  take ;  when  he  hath 
tried  me,  I  shall  come  forth,'  &c.      '■  My  soul,  wait  thou 


onli/    upon    God.       From   him   i^ 
Blessed  is  the  man  that  trusteth  in 


'11   my   expectation. 
*    God  bless  you." 


To      ,;>ther  of  his  daughtc      h^.:  wrote,  in  a  time  of 
i»piiitual  trial: 


LETTEB8. 


247 


"  Come  now,  my  dear  daughter,  let  me  have  a  long 
letter  from  you  at  once.  I  want  you  to  believe  that  Jesus 
loves  you,  that  he  died  to  redeem  you,  and  that  while  you 
feel  it  in  your  heart  to  come  unto  God  the  Father  by  him, 
he  will  never  cast  you  out  nor  forsake  you. 

'He  could  not  have  taught  you  .     ,. 

To  trust  in  His  name, 
And  thus  far  have  brought  you,        «         -;  .=    ,  •  . 
To  put  you  to  shame.' 

"  I  want  you  to  begin  and  read  through  the  New  Tes- 
tament, slowly,  thoughtfully,  and  prayerfully.  Short, 
ejaculatoiy  prayers  to  God  the  Holy  Spirit,  for  under- 
standing of  what  you  read,  will,  insensibly  to  yourself, 
nourish,  strengthen,  and  tranquillize  your  whole  soul.  _     _ 

"  Alas  for  my  want  of  time  I  The  foregoing  was  writ- 
ten late  Friday  night ;  on  Saturday  I  had  not  a  moment 
to  finish  it,  and  now  it  is  late  on  Sunday  niglit,  after  three 
services.  If  I  leave  it  till  morning,  I  shall  again  be 
interrupted. 

"  We  fear  your  dear  sister is  not  permanently  bet- 
ter. May  the  Lord  pity  and  relieve  her !  We  can  all 
praj  fo!  her,  and  the  Lord  Jesus  may  graciously  heal 
her,  as  he  healed  thousands  by  his  silent  power  from  hea- 
ven, and  also  by  his  word  and  touch  when  here  on  the 
earth.  Oh,  what  a  mercy  from  his  hand,  to  be  free  from 
bodily  pain,  and  from  distraction  of  mind  I  '  Bless  the 
I  '>rd   O  my  .^aul,  and  forget  not  all  his  benefits  I  *  " 

In  anotaei  family  letter  he  asks,  "  What  do  you  think 
of  grandpa's  plan  for  sweeping  off  that  missionary  debt  ? 
I  tmst  the  churches  wh.ch  ara  delinquent  in  this  '4  36,000 
mattor,  will  come  forward  at  once,  and  put  thjir  shoulders 
Uiider  the  wheel,  till  it  is  banished  as  a  thing  that  Wa9 
but  is  not." 


.:^i' 


.SALiiT-i^ 


V-  .<!.    .. 


"^  ;kK:t;.,a 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


AfBictions— God's  Presence  as  the  Comforter  —  His  Mother's  Death  —  A  Qreat  Sorrow 
at  Home  —  At  Erening-Time  it  is  Light  —  The  Pure  in  Heart  see  Ood  —  Letter  after 
•  Oieat  Bereavemeiit  —  Letters  of  Sympathy. 

)R.  DUNBAR'S  domestic  affections  were  very- 
strong,  and  God  dealt  mercifiilly  with  him,  send- 
ing but  seldom  the  shadow  of  death  to  liis  dwelling. 
A  little  twin  boy  died  in  St.  George,  N.  B.,  an 
infant  of  weeks  ;  and  not  again  for  fifteen  years 
afterward  was  the  circle  broken.  Then  his  mate,  a  youth 
of  fare  beauty  and  promise,  was  called  very  suddenly 
from  earth,  shortly  after  his  return  from  Europe,  whither 
he  had  accompanied  his  parents.  This  last  was  a  terrible 
stroke  to  the  family,  who  had  allowed  their  hearts  to  be- 
come very  closely  entwined  about  this  son  and  brother; 
but  to  Mr.  Dunbar  it  was  one  of  God'?  special  visitations. 
He  remarked,  afterward,  that  when  he  first  looked  the 
danger  in  the  face,  he  feared  that  the  trial  would  prove 
more  than  he  had  grace  for;  that  he  might  be  left  to 
wound  the  Saviour,  —  whose  supporting  love  he  had  so 
often  recommended  to  otliers,  —  by  a  want  of  submission 
t^  his  will.  But  with  the  affliction  came  strength  to  bear 
it.  So  sensibly  was  he  supported  that  he  felt,  in  closing 
those  dear,  beautiful  eyes,  with  his  own  hand,  that,  had 
God  called  him  to  yi^'hl  all  the  eight  instead  of  one  child 
only,  he  could  have  done  it  without  a  murmur,  so  right- 
eous and  merciful  did  his  will  appear  to  '  'm. 

Previous  to  this  last  bereavement,  IV: »,  ,    'ibar's  pi.  tj^t' 


HIS  motheb's  dsath. 


249 


had  both  died  in  their  Highlanr^  home.  When  the  news 
of  his  mother's  death  reached  him,  he  wept  like  a  child. 
"  I  have  always  felt,'*  he  said,  "  that  if  ever  a  day  should 
come  when  every  other  door  in  the  world  were  shut  against 
me,  hers  would  still  be  open."  Years  and  distance  had 
not  weakened  his  memory  of  her  love.  "  His  mother," 
writes  a  Scotch  minister,  "  fell  a  victim  to  her  Highland 
hospitality."  A  poor  stranger  came  to  her  house,  complain- 
ing that  he  was  very  ill.  He  had  been  at  the  fair,  selling 
almanacs,  and  was  on  his  way  home,  but  could  go  no 
farther.  He  had  fallen  into  merciful  hands  when  he  sank 
at  her  door.  All  others  were  alarmed  at  the  disease  that 
soon  showed  itself,  and  fled  from  him ;  but  she,  with  her 
own  hands,  administered  nourishment  and  medicine,  and 
did  all  that  mortal  could  do  to  save  him ;  but  it  was  un- 
availing. He  died,  and  was  buiied  among  Rirangers,  in 
the  church-yard  (rf  Grantc  v  u.  A  fortnight  aftei^/ard,  she, 
having  taken  the  infection,  closed  her  own  work  oa  v-  th. 
Such  was  the  woman,  who  in  her  narrow  sphere  in  that 
remote  Highland  home,  reared  this  man  of  God  to  be  the 
consoler  of  many,  the  friend  of  the  stranger,  the  helper 
of  the  needy.  Doubtless  the  secJ  of  pity  and  gentleness, 
sown  in  childhood,  sprang  up  into  that  harvest  of  mercy 
by  which  so  many  were  fed  and  comforted  in  the  nearly 
half  a  century  of  his  philanthropic  labors.  In  this  view, 
no  woman's  sphere  is  narrow  who  has  one  CiJi  *  to  train 
for  life.  i    J     ,      V    ^.  ^i 

For  nearly  twenty-four  years  after  the  loss,  by  death,  of 
his  son,  Mr.  Djnbar's  family  remained  unbroken.  As  his 
'^hildren  scatters  !  it  was  to  make  many  homes,  from  each 
01  which  they  ail  looked  back  to  tlieir  father's  house  as 
Jtiil  the  home,  by  way  of  preeminence,  until  its  doors  were 
closed  forever  by  tlie  hand  of  death. 


■'»iX- 


250 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


I 


''  In  1859,  a  sorrow,  like  unto  no  other  sorrow  they  had 
ever  kr :  -r  ,  v  s  sent  by  an  unerring  Providence.  Mrs. 
Du):'>ii,  wh  )Sjc  domestic  and  Christian  life  had  been  one 
of  rare  beauty  and  consistency,  was  called  to  her  rest.  Her 
piety  was  deep  and  earnest,  strongly  marked  by  that 
charity  which  thinketh  no  evil,  and  by  a  keen  and  tender 
sensitiveness  for  tin  licor  of  Clirist  and  l»is  cause  ;  and 
yet  so  gi'eat  were  her  humility  and  self-distrust,  so  deep 
her  consciousness  of  indwelling  sin,  that  she  did  not  al- 
ways enjoy  that  full  assurance  of  acceptance,  which  is  the 
privilege  of  God's  chosen,  but  was  the  subject  of  many 
doubts  and  fears.  This  was  her  infirmity ;  but  it  is  cheer- 
ing to  know  that,  a  few  years  before  her  death,  these 
clouds  were  all  dispelled  from  her  mind,  and  that,  hence- 
forth she  lived  more  in  the  light,  till  she  ascended  to  the 
home  where  is  quietness  and  assurance  fore-  -  r.  The  sum- 
mer previous  to  her  death,  being  in  Massachusetts  with 
one  of  her  daughters,  she  alluded  to  those  habitual  doubts 
and  to  her  fear  of  death  as  things  gone  by.  She  said, 
"  One  day  in  searching  the  library  for  a  book,  I  laid  my 
hand  on  a  little,  old  tract,  called  *  Venture  on  Him.'  I 
was  struck  with  the  title,  and  slipped  the  tract  into  my 
pocket  to  read  at  my  leisure.  There  was  nothing  in  it 
I  did  not  know  before ;  but,  while  reading  it,  the  way  of 
salvation  seemed  plain,  and  acceptance  with  Christ  so  sure 
to  those  who  sought  him,  that  I  wondered  Iiow  any  one 
could  doubt  his  willingn.^ss  to  save." 

A  few  months  r  3r  this,  her  scattered  children  were 
gathered  at  home  .  stai  d  round  her  dying  bed.  Then 
this  little  passage  In  her  experience  was ^ mentioned,  and 
the  old  tract  sought,  but  not  found.  Probably  she  had 
placed  it  in  the  hands  of  some  one,  who,  like  herself,  was 
seeking  to  be  taken  more  fully  into  the  light. 


MRS.  DUNBAB'S  death. 


251 


During  tlie  previous  winter,  Mrs.  Dunbar  had  been  con- 
fined for  many  weeks  to  a  darkened  room  with  an  inflamma- 
tion of  the  eye,  and  necessarily  put  on  such  low  diet  as 
greatly  to  reduce  her  strength.  In  March,  however,  she 
was  able  to  leave  her  room  and  go  to  that  of  her  daughter, 
who  had  been  ill  at  the  same  time.  She,  being  weak,  was 
accompanied  upstairs  by  her  dear  friend  of  more  than 
thirty  years,  Mrs.  Mary  Parsell,  who  now  resided  in 
the  family.  They  spent  a  cheerful  half-hour  there,  and 
then  lef);.  But  as  she  descended  the  stairs,  Mrs.  Dunbar 
was  deceived  by  the  gas-light,  and,  n^issing  the  last  step, 
fell  on  her  side.  She  at  once  felt  that  she  was  injured, 
and  with  her  usual  disregard  of  self,  she  said,  "  Oh,  don't 
tell  M.  that  I  am  hurt !  Poor  father  will  be  discouraged ; 
he  will  think  now  that  I  am  never  going  to  be  v/ell 
again ! " 

On  his  return  from  the  evening  meeting,  Mr.  Dunbar 
called  in  his  physician,  who  at  once  expressed  great  fears 
of  the  result.  These  proved  to  be  but  too  well  grounded. 
A  fever,  excited  by  the  injuries,  soon  set  in,  and  she  be- 
gan to  sink,  although  not  herself  conscious  of  it.  When 
told  by  one  of  her  daughters  how  alarming  her  case  was, 
she  seemed  a  little  surprised,  but  replied,  calmly,  "  We 
must  just  submit  to  God's  will,  my  dear  :  I  am  not  afraid 
of  death."  And  that  was  the  last  allusion  she  made 
to  it.  ,    ; 

On  Sunday  morning,  March  11,  1869,  after  nine  days 
of  suffering,  she  passed  away  to  the  rest  and  joy  of  the 
sinless  Sabbath.  No  spirit  ever  had  less  of  earthliness  to 
cast  off  in  its  upward  flight  than  hers,  and  few  who  moved 
so  quietly  below  ever  left  so  wide  a  void  in  the  home,  the 
church,  and  among  the  poor,  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in 
heart,  for  they  shall  see  God,"  ,  .  , 


252 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


*'  Mr.  Dunbar  wrote  thus  to  one  of  his  daughters,  who 
had  returned  to  her  own  home  after  the  death  of  her 
motner  i     '   — ■■  ■  •  i  ',•'      -.-v.-.';  ^  ^«»j  ^^  !...•  w^v  j*,'  ',;.■<' 


ffi'Vivi^l.    1.;       .l(:T";Vtt.vfU 


Mi>iyi 


,j  ujIy  dear  Daughter,  —  I  knew  it  would  cheer  you 
to  hear  that  those  of  us  who  are  left  are  doing  well,  and  that 
the  Lord  is  sustaining  us  under  our  heavy  bereavement. 
I  have  just  a  moment  this  morning,  before  company  and 
calls  begin,  to  say  that  dear  M.'s  health  is  improving,  though 
slowly,  and  that  God's  goodness  is  wonderfully  displayed  in 
her  case  and  mine,  causing  us  to  mount  up  above  all  that  has 
happened  ;  in  which  grief  you  and  your  dear  husband  were 
such  deep  sharers.  I  do  hope,  my  dear,  that  you  will  try 
to  surmount  your  sorrow,  and  forget  in  a  measure  your 
sad  loss  of  a  dear  mother,  in  the  consideration  that  *  it  is 
well,'  eternally  well,  with  her. 

"  I  can  truly  say  that  I  am  more  and  more  reconciled 
to  what  the  Lord  has  done,  by  the  belief  that  she  died  in 
the  faith  of  a  glorious  resurrection  with  the  Son  of  God 
when  he  shall  come  the  second  time  to  gather  from  the 
four  winds  the  precious  dust  of  his  redeemed.  And  it 
ought  to  comfort  you,  amid  your  doubts  and  fears,  to  know 
that  to  a  far  later  period  of  life  than  that  to  which  you 
have  attained,  her  mind  was  habitually  perplexed  with 
painful  doubts  and  fears  about  her  conversion  and  her 
eternal  state,  but  that  for  the  last  few  years  the  Saviour 
favored  her  soul  with  clearer  views  of  his  own  all-saffi- 
ciency,  and  that  she  gradually  ceased  looking,  as  she 
had  long  done,  to  her  own  unworthiness  and  conscious 
imperfection  and  unbeHef.  Her  mind  was  more  in- 
tensely occupied  in  reading  and  thinking  of,  and  look- 
ing at,  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  as  he  is  set  forth  in  the 
Holy  Scriptures. 


-.n>JtV  LETTER. 


253 


"  It  is  the  mistake  of  thousands  who  are  really  regener- 
ated, to  be  seeking  for  that  in  their  own  hearts  and  lives 
which  God  and  his  justice  finds  only  in  the  great  Media- 
tor. God  is  well  pleased  with  what  his  own  dear  Son 
has  done  and  suffered ;  and  if  you  and  I  and  millions  more 
will  only  be  satisfied,  and  thus  believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  we  shall  be  saved  !  So  the  book  of  God  declares. 
That  is 


' the  word  of  truth  and  love, 

Sent  to  the  nations  from  above ; 
Jehovah  here  resolves  to  show 
What  his  Almighty  power  can  do.' 


1 


If-'" 


'**  Let  me  hear  from  you  very  soon.  I  do  not  feel  sad 
and  lonely ;  so  you  must  not  worry  about  your  dear  father. 
I  love  you  all  more  than  ever.  Give  much  love  to  G.  and 
the  dear  boys.  I  hope  they  have  all  escaped  the  conta- 
gion you  feared.  If  so,  say  to  God,  as  David  did,  *  O 
thou  Preserver  of  menl'     God  bless  you  all.  '""•    •"''''■ 

Your  very  affectionate  father,   '''^''' 
'  "Duncan  Dunbar." 


(( 


■H     V 


To  his  youngest  daughter,  absent  on  a  visit,  he  wrote :  — 

"  Sunday  night,  eleven  o'clock. 

"Dear  M.,  —  I  thank  you  for  your  two  good  letters 

since  you  lefl  me I  am  very  tired.     It  was  our 

communion,  and  I  baptized  and  preached  all  day  without 
any  help ;  and  I  will  only  say  that  I  am  truly  sorry  that 
your  health  is  not  more  improved.  May  the  Lord  give 
you  patience  and  submission  to  his  holy  will,  my  dear 
daughter,  and  all  will  be  well  in  the  end. 

*  Though  piiinful  at  present, 
'Twill  cease  before  long ; 
22 


254 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


-.f-i  ;.  •  ■  ►;.      ,     •';  And  then,  oh,  how  pleasant     .•■■j/;    ;,  ,-:    • 

...        J  .   .    The  conqueror's  song ! '  .    .        ,, 

Hear  the  blessed  Saviour  saying, —  ,.    . 

'  Oomparo  thy  grief  with  mine, 

Thinlc  what  my  love  for  thee  endured. 
And  t'liou  wilt  not  repine.' 

Remember  that  tlie  Lord  has  all  power  in  heaven  and  on 
earth  to  heal  diseases  and  to  forgive  sins. 

"  K.  and  myself,  with  two  of  her  children,  will  leave 
here,  the  Lord  willing,  on  Tuesday,  by  the  Norwich  route ; 
so  you  will  know  when  to  look  for  us  at  '  The  Corner.' 
I  must  preach  there  for  J.  the  last  Lord's  day  in  August, 
although  I  ought  to  rest  all  the  time  given  me  as  a  vaca- 
tion. 

"  I  have  been  atte  iding  to  the  iron-fence  around  the 
last  resting-place  of  your  dear  mother  I  Oh,  how  I  miss 
her !  Never  before,  till  since  you  left  me,  did  I  realize  the 
depth  of  my  bereavement.  The  Lord  has,  in  mercy,  kept 
it  at  a  distance  from  me  ever  since  the  day  of  her  funeral, 
and  I  have  tried  to  avoid  alluding  to  her  often  for  your 
sake.  But  now  that  you  are  absent,  the  fountains  of  my 
heart  have  spumed  the  former  control,  —  although  I  seem 
to  hear  her  constantly  saying  to  me, — 

'  Weep  not  for  mo  when  you  stand  round  my  grave.' " 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 


and  the 
V  I  miss 
ilize  the 
cy,  kept 
funeral, 
:ov  your 
IS  of  my 
ti  I  seem 


Phytical  Coustitution  — Sails  for  Europe  —  Arrival  —  Sight  of  tlie  Heather  — First  Sab^ 
bath  in  Scotland  —  The  Sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper  —  Ills  Interest  la 
America  —  A  Church  in  a  Hotel  — The  Baptistery  —  Visit  t^  Arbroath,'  Brechin 
and  Aberdeen  —  The  Memory  of  a  Voice  —  Reaches  Orantown  —  The  Queen's  Cham- 
ber —  Her  Mi^esty  Scorned  by  a  Highland  Lass  —  Peter  Grant  —  Sabbath  Services  — A 
Highland  Welcome  —  Castle  Grant  —  The  Haunted  Room  —  The  Laird  of  Dalrey  and 
bU  Scotch  Paradise  —  Elgin  —  Inverness  —  Tour  of  the  Caledonian  Canal  —  Aban  — • 
StaSst  — A  Perilous  Adventure  — The  Trosachs  —  Back  to  Edinburgh  —  York — 
London — Paris  —  Homeward  Voyage — A  Gale  at  Sea  —  Home  Again — Fi-esh  fot 
Labor  —  Growing  Meet  for  Heaven. 

)R.  DUNBAR'S  physical  constitution  was  as  near- 
ly perfect  as  often  falls  to  the  lot  of  man  ;  so  that 
through  life  he  set  at  naught  many  of  the  laws  of 
nature  in  a  way  that  would  have  sent  most  men 
to  an  early  grave.  It  was  long  his  custom  to  turn 
night  into  day,  by  beginning  to  read  and  study 
after  nil  others  had  retired  to  rest  and  the  house  was 
quiet,  —  one  and  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  being  his  usual 
bedtime.  This  habit  he  probably  acquired  from  stem 
necessity,  as,  by  day,  his  time  was  so  fully  occupied  and 
interrupted  aa  to  prevent  retirement. 

He  was  equally  reganiiess  of  regularity  in  his  meal'< ; 
often,  when  going  from  a  sick-bed  to  a  funeral,  and  from  some 
society  meeting  to  the  home  of  poverty,  forgetting  his  din- 
ner, and  not  touching  food  between  brnikfast  and  tea. 
This  strength  of  constitution  he  always  attributed  to  the 
hardy  manner  in  which  he  was  reared  in  his  Highland 
'  ome.  When  wanting  but  six  years  of  fourscore,  his  form 
was  erect,  his  step  firm,  his  eye  bright,  his  hearing  perfect, 

(Mb) 


■\ 


256 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


and  his  heart  young ;  so  that  any  stranger  would  have 
pronounced  him  a  vigorous  man  for  sixty  years.  To  this 
may  be  attributed  the  vast  amount  of  labor  he  performed, 
—  labor  which  would  have  crushed  three  men  of  ordinary 
powers. 

The  latter  years  of  his  life  were  laden  with  increased 
toil ;  and  sometimes  he  com]>lained  of  weariness,  which 
was  new  for  him.  He  felt  the  need  of  rest  from  the  labors 
of  the  pulpit  and  the  cares  of  the  pastorate,  and  often  ex- 
pressed a  desire  that  he  might  "  once  more  visit  dear  old 
Scotland."  Friends,  both  in  his  own  church  and  out  of 
it,  encouraged  hiin  to  go,  for  his  own  sake  as  well  as  in  the 
hope  that  a  sea-voyage  might  restore  health  to  his  youn<];- 
est  daughter,  who  would  accompany  him.  On  the  first 
of  August,  1863,  they,  with  a  young  friend,  sailed  from 
New  York  in  the  steamer  "  City  of  London,"  Captain 
Petrie.  After  a  voyage,  rendered  very  agreeable  by  tlie 
kindness  of  the  genial  captain  and  the  company  of  inttlli- 
gent  passengers,  they  reached  Liverpool,  and  went  directly 
to  Scotland.  After  leaving  Edinburgh,  Mr.  Dunbar  caught 
sight,  for  the  firot  time,  of  the  heather,  —  that  simple 
flower,  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  every  Scot.  It  seemed  to 
put  new  life  in  him ;  and  he  could  hardly  keep  his  seat  in 
the  car,  so  anxious  was  he  once  more  to  grasp  it,  as  in  the 
days  of  his  boyliood.  Nor  did  it  lose  its  charm  by  the 
daily  and  liourly  sight.  Every  sprig  he  saw  was  a  joy 
to  him.  He  remembered  the  love  he  bore  it  in  childhood, 
when  he  used  to  lie  in  a  bed  of  it  on  a  slope  near  his 
father's  house,  and,  buried  among  the  blossoms,  roll  down 
to  the  street,  in  his  sport.  It  now  seemed  to  him  like  the 
face  of  an  old  playfellow,  or  of  a  long-lost,  familiar  friend. 
That  and  the  thistle  were  ever  very  dear,  as  the  emblems 
of  the  land  he  loved  so  tenderly. 


SABBATH  IN   SCOTLAND. 


257 


!  It  was  remarkable  that  one,  loving  his  own  land  With 
such  fervor,  should  have  so  large  a  place  in  his  heart  for 
his  adopted  country.  He  did  not  love  America  less,  but 
Scotland  more ;  and  was  as  sensitive  when  a  dis])arnging 
word  was  said  of  one  as  of  the  other.  He  once  remarked 
to  a  friend,  that  he  loved  to  live  in  America,  but  that  he 
should  like  to  die  and  be  buried  in  Scotland.  '      "'■ 

The  first  Sabbath  in  Britain  was  passed  in  Anstruther 
a  very  old  town  on  the  German  Ocean.  Here  he  visited, 
and  was  most  hospitably  entertained,  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Todd,  whose  relatives  were  connected  Avith  McDougal 
Street  Church,  and  "  talked  a  little "  to  the  brethren 
there  :  —  he  was  forbidden  to  preachy  as  his  leave  of  ab- 
sence was  for  rest. 

Scotch  Ba{)tists  celebrate  the  Lord's  Supper  every  Sab- 
bath mornin^, ;  and  the  simplicity  with  which  it  was  ad- 
ministered here  was  new  to  the  ladies  of  the  party.  On 
the  table  were  placed  cups,  already  filled,  and  on  a  plate, 
four  half-slices  of  bread,  one  of  which  was  passed  by  one 
deacon  to  another,  who,  havin^^  broken  off  a  piece  for  him- 
self, passed  the  slice  —  not  the  plate  —  to  his  next  neigh- 
bor, who,  in  his  turn,  gave  it  to  another;  and  so  on,  till 
all  were  supplier.  The  cominu..ion  was  <mjoyed  as  that 
oi'  the  saints.  But  a  question  rose  in  their  minds,  v,^hether 
the  mode  was  primitive  as  well  us  simple  ;  whether,  to  Bap- 
tists, })rofe8sing  to  follow  their  I'uttern,  even  in  the  »malleM 
thinfljs,  the  sight  of  pouriny  the  wine  ami  breaking  the 
bread  wf)u!d  not  be  more  .suggtMive  of  the  flowing  blood 
and  broken  lx)dy  of  Him  whoso  death  they    •/mmemornte. 

During  this  journey,  wherever  he  might  be,  Mr,  Dunbar 
made  it  a  point,  as  a  subject  uppermost  in  iiis  mind,  to 
present  correct  views  of  the  great  struggle  then  going  on 
in  America.     His  intense  hatred  of  slavery  was  combined 

22  4 


258 


DUNCAN   DUNBAB. 


witli  gi.eat  love  to  his  adopted  country,  and  he  never  lost 
an  opportunity  of  denouncing  the  one  and  pleading  for  the 
other.  He  often  conversed  upon  this  ever-fresh  theme  till 
far  into  th«  night.  W  hen  travelUng,  he  would  introduce 
llie  subject,  by  offering  his  snuff-box  to  sojie  sensible-look- 
ing fellow-passenger,  saying,  "  Will  you  take  a  pinch  of 
snuff  which  has  just  come  from  America  ?  "  At  this  word, 
all  ears  were  open,  and  a  warm  diecussion  would  ensue, 
continuing,  sometimes,  for  hours,  —  he  always  contriving, 
when  he  reached  his  station,  to  have  the  last  word  through 
the  car-window.  If  ever  he  was  absent  from  the  ladie:; 
under  his  care  longer  than  the  appointed  time,  they  kne- 
that  he  had  fallen  in  with  fxiends  who  needed  enlightening 
on  what  he  considered  the  one  great  movement  of  the 
day. 

When  stopj)ing  at  a  hotel  in  Dundee,  being  anxious  to 
find  the  widow  of  a  Baptist  minister,  to  whom  he  had  a 
letter,  he  asked  a  waiter  if  he  knew  any  persons  of  that 
denomination  in  the  city.  He  replied,  that  the  proprietor 
of  the  house  was  one  of  them,  and  at  once  brought  him  to 
Mr.  Dunbar.  He  belonged  to  a  little  band  bearing  the 
name  of  "  Baptist,"  but  differing  materially  from  the 
body  80  called  among  us.  They  believed  the  gospel 
to  be  "  free,"  and  therefore  denounced  a  paid  ministry 
as  "  hirelings  ;  '*  and  held  other  views  peculiar  to  them- 
selves. Mine  host  visited  Mr.  Dunbar  in  his  private  par- 
lor, and  they  discussed  their  differences  at  considerable 
length.  We  believe  he  did  not  "  hold  to  "  houses  set  apart 
for  worship,  —  the  church,  of  which  he  was  one  of  the  several 
pastors,  meeting  in  a  hall  on  the  lower  floor  of  the  hotel. 
He  took  Mr,  Dunbar  and  the  ladies  down  to  see  it  (a  long 
room,  with  pine  benches),  and  said,  pointing  to  the  corner, 
"  Yon  is  the  baptistery."    After  looking  around  in  vain  for 


CASTLE  OF  BBECHIN. 


259 


it,  they  were  shown  a  rough  box,  which  had  probably  been 
extemporized  for  some  rare  occasion,  —  for  this  class  of 
Baptists  do  not  make  very  large  reprisals  from  the  king- 
dom of  Satan,  but  remain  much  as  they  have  been  for  long 
years,  —  as  Mr.  Dunbar  playfully  expressed  it,  —  "A  fold 
of  five  sheep,  four  of  whom  were  shepherds.*' 

He  met  with,  and  talked  to,  his  brethren  at  Arbroath, 
where  the  only  remaining  relatives  of  Mrs.  Dunbar  reside. 
Here  they  noticed,  with  pleasure,  that  at  church,  very  many 
of  the  sisters  had  in  their  hands  tiny  and  exquisite  bouquets. 
When  they  were  seated,  an  aged  woman  behind  them 
leaned  forward,  touched  Miss  Dunbar,  and  handed  her 
her  own  flowers,  —  a  beautiful  welcome  to  a  stranger. 
Here  Mr.  Dunbar  left,  as  elsewhere,  a  brother's  memory, 
80  that  his  death,  the  following  year,  caused  sorrow  to  that 
little  band.  A  kind  and  sympathizing  letter  from  two  of 
them  to  the  family  expresses  their  feeUngs  on  hearing  of 
the  sad  event. 

He  visited  the  fine  castle  of  Brechin,  on  the  South  Esk, 
and  very  near  it  saw,  and  pointed  out  to  his  companions,  a 
house  which  awakened  memories  of  the  past,  —  the  one  in 
which  he  first  met  the  wife  of  his  youth,  when  he  went,  as 
before  mentioned,  to  deliver  a  letter  from  her  pastor,  Mr. 
Penman,  of  Arbroath. 

Soon  after  this,  the  party  went  to  Aberdeen,  and,  after 
visiting  the  University,  the  Cathedral,  and  other  places  of 
public  interest,  Mr.  Dunbar  rode  to  the  house  where  his 
family  resided  at  the  time  he  left  them  on  his  first  coming 
to  America.  The  same  name  was  on  the  door-plate,  but 
it  was  that  of  a  stranger,  who  had  never  lieard  of  their 
Visitor.  Thus  our  homes  remain,  when  we  pass  away, 
to  those  who  come  after,  —  teaching  a  lesson  of  human 
frailty.     The  places  hero  that  kiicw  the  meek  one  whose 


260 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


Spirit  seemed  to  pervade  these  scenes,  know  her  no  more. 
Wearied  with  the  changes  of  earth,  she  had  found  a  house 
not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens. 

While  in  Aberdeen,  Mr.  Dunbar  called  at  the  dwelling 
of  old  and  valued  friends,  not  knowing  whether  either  of 
them  was  living.  When  a  servant  opened  the  door,  his  voice 
was  heard  by  Mrs.  McA.,  wh  ^,  with  a  friend,  was  in  the 
parlor.  She  exclaimed,  "  That  is  Mr.  Dunbar,  from 
America.  I  know  his  voice,  though  I  have  not  heard 
it  for  twenty-three  years  !  "  Thus  are  the  voices  as  well 
as  the  faces  of  those  we  love  treasureii  up  in  the  cham- 
bers of  memory.    ;    '^  '•      -y.  :       ,;.  vv^,. 

When  they  reached  Grantv  wn,  his  native  place  in  the 
Highlands,  Mr.  Dunbar  engaged  rooms  at  the  principal 
hotel,  —  his  relatives  being  all  gone,  —  taking  special  pains 
to  secure  the  "  Queen's  Room  "  for  the  ladies  ;  who,  how- 
ever, were  too  thoroughly  republican  to  rest  any  better  on 
the  pillows  because  a  royal  head  had  pressed  them.  It 
seems  that  Her  Majesty,  when  travelling  in  Scotland,  had 
sent  forward  messengers  to  engage  rooms  where  she  might 
rest  incognito^  and  save  herself  the  weariness  of  being 
stared  at  and  publicly  honored.  When  she  reached  Gran- 
town,  of  course  the  people  at  the  hotel  knew  by  the  length 
of  her  train  that  she  was  a  noble  lady  ;  but  they  had  not 
a  suspicion  of  the  great  honor  being  done  to  their  house. 

When  her  private  table  was  spread,  a  waiting-girl  pre- 
sented herself,  but  the  Queen  informed  her  that  she 
preferred  being  served  by  her  own  attendants.  This 
touched  the  pride  of  the  Highland  lass,  and,  her  spirit 
rising  above  her  position,  she  replied  tartly,  "  O'l, 
ay ;  but  I've  served  finer  leddies  nor  ye^  mony  a 
time." 

When   the   Queen   was   leaving,   her   munificence  in 


P£T£B  GRANT. 


261 


lificence  m 


settling  the  bill  and  feeing  the  servants  revealed  hei 
rank.  And  then  the  poor,  proud  lass  was  terror-stricken, 
lest  she  might  be  beheaded,  or  otherwise  put  out  of  exist- 
ence, for  her  impertinence. 

It  was  Saturday  evening  when  Mr.  Dunbar's  party  ar- 
rived at  Grantown,  and  a  messenger  was  at  once  de- 
spatched to  the  aged  and  honored  Rev.  Peter  Grant,  to 
say  that  a  gentleman  and  two  ladies  wished  to  see  him  at 
the  hotel.  He  had  given  up  the  manse  by  the  church,  to 
his  son,  the  associate  pastor,  and  had  moved  a  little  way 
out  of  the  town.  He,  however,  walked  the  mile,  and  pre- 
sented himself  before  the  strangers.  His  eye  was  dimmed 
by  the  flight  of  more  than  ei^^hty  years,  and  twenty-three 
had  passed  since  last  he  had  seen  the  friend  of  his  youth.  It 
was  not,  therefore,  strange,  that  he  did  not  at  first  recog- 
nize Mr.  Dunbar,  who  tried  for  some  time  to  make  him 
recall  the  face  and  voice.  But  in  vain.  At  length,  he 
asked,  "  Have  you  received  any  papers  from  America, 
lately  ?  "  At  the  word,  "  America,"  his  eye  kindled,  and 
he  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  ay  j  but  it's  very  wonderful !  "  And 
then  the  two  embraced,  and  kissed  each  other. 

After  reviewing  the  past,  with  its  long  line  of  dead,  and 
the  present,  with  its  sorrows  and  its  joys,  and  talking  over 
many  topics  of  interest  to  themselves  alone,  they  came  to 
speak  of  their  famiUes,  when  Mr.  Grant  stated  that  he  had 
ten  children  I  Mr.  Dunbar  could  boast  of  only  seven. 
And  again  Mr.  Grant  was  in  the  ascendant,  for  he  had 
forty  grandchildren ;  Mr.  Dunbar  had  only  twenty-three. 
Then,  as  a  crowning  glory,  Mr.  Grant  told  them  that  he 
had  one  great-grandchild  I  It  was  the  turn  of  Mr.  Dun- 
bar now  to  triumph  over  him,  as  he  had  three  little  lambs 
of  the  fourth  jjjeneration  in  his  home  over  the  sea. 

This  patriarch  of  Grantown  is  a  dear,  lovable  old  man, 


262 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


on  whose  calm  face  is  written,  "  Peace  and  good-will  to 
men."  This  meeting,  so  near  life's  sunset,  gave  real 
pleasure  to  them  both.  Mr.  William  Grant  being  ab- 
sent, his  father  was  to  preach  at  home,  and  gladly  availed 
himself  of  Mr.  iJunbar's  help.  At  twelve  o'clock,  the  first 
service  commenced,  which  was  in  English,  and  which 
the  visitor  conducted.  Following  this,  without  any  inter- 
mission, came  a  discourse  to  the  older  people  in  Gaelic,  and 
immediately  after  this,  the  Lord's  Supper,  concluding  at 
four  in  the  afternoon.  Then,  again,  in  the  evening,  was 
a  service  from  six  to  eight  o'clock.  How  would  the  im- 
petuous spirit,  which  complains  of  forty-minute  sermons 
and  ninety-minute  services  with  us,  brook  this  "  dwelling 
in  the  house  of  the  Lord  ?  "  We  fear  the  Sabbath  would 
be  more  a  weariness  than  a  delight,  as  it  seems  to  be  with 
the  godly  Scot.  ' 

Extreme  fatigue  prevented  Mr.  Dunbar's  companions 
from  attending  the  services  during  the  day  ;  but  at  six 
o'clock  they  rode  to  the  church,  and  found  that  the  cor- 
dial soul- welcome  given  to  the  servant  of  God,  was,  for  his 
sake,  extended  to  them.  Casting  away  all  the  hollow 
forms  of  etiquette,  the  brethren  and  sisters  pressed  around 
them,  shaking  hands,  and  speaking  words  of  kindness,  — 
a  fresh  and  touching  scene  in  a  world  so  full  of  formality 
and  coldness.  From  the  oldest  women,  —  two  or  three 
of  whom,  having  outlived  their  own  generation,  wore  full- 
bordered  caps,  without  bonnets, —  down  to  the  very 
youngest,  all  gave  these  Americans  a  greeting  they  will 
not  soon  forget.  Nor  were  they  overlooked  by  the  male 
portion  of  the  congregation,  but  received  from  them  all, 
at  the  church-door,  the  hand  of  welcome. 

On  Monday  morning,  the  door  of  the  private  par- 
lor at  the  hotel  was   thrown   open,  and  an  old  woman 


SABBATH   SERVICES. 


263 


ushered  in,  ''  '••  wished  to  speak  to  them.  She  pioved  to 
be  one  of  the  :  ^d  sisters  they  had  seen  at  church,  in  the 
broavi-frilled  caps.  She  said  she  had  come  to  shake  handi 
with  Mr.  Dunbar  and  the  ladies  again,  and  to  tell  him 
how  much  she  had  been  comforted  by  his  preaching.  She 
was  poor,  and  nearly  h]h<\ ;  "^  .^d  she  had  hesitated  some 
time  before  coming,  because,  she  "  knew  very  well  thejr 
would  have  so  many  visitors  of  a  different  class."  She 
gav"  the  ladies  two  little,  half-worn  hymn-hooks  as  keep- 
akes ;  but  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  they  could 
induce  her  to  accept  a  little  silver  as  a  token  of  remem- 
brance. She  seemed  very  grateful  for  the  kind  words 
given  her ;  t;nd  asked  them  if,  when  they  were  writing 
from  America  to  the  minister,  they  **  would  please  to  send 
their  compliments  to  Margaret  Grant."  And  we  know 
this  humble  request  was  not  forgotten  by  him  whose 
heart  was  open  to  the  weakest  and  humblest  of  God's  chil- 
dren. Her  wish  was  gratified  ;  -^he  was  remembered  over 
the  sea. 

While  visiting  at  the  man?  >  where  were  gathered  sev- 
eral of  the  aged  minister's  c^  ildreii  and  grandchildren,  a 
daughter  referred  to  one  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  former  visits, 
which  was  attended  with  a  great  blessing  to  the  little 
church.  She  was  at  the  time  quite  careless  about  her  soul, 
and  felt  no  little  opposition  to  the  work  of  grace  then  go- 
ing on  ;  so  that  when  she  saw  iier  sister  take  a  seat  at  tiie 
Lord's  table  she  felt  real  anger  and  enmity  toward  her. 
Mr.  Duubar  rose  at  the  moment,  and  gave  out  a  hymti.  and 
her  attention  was  arrested  by  tiie  first  line.  Every  word 
in  the  sermon  seemed  an  arrow  pointed  at  her.  At  the 
close  of  the  service,  one  of  the  brethren  of  the  church 
asked  h'^v  if  she  was  not  one  of  the  class  alluded  to —  im- 
penitent sinners.     This  s^n  v'-e  question  served  to  deepen 


264 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


the  impression,  which  was  so  powerfil  iiiat  she  shook  and 
ti*eiubled  until  she  thought  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  her. 
Her  brother  William  was  affected  in  the  same  way,  tiiough 
neither  mention<xl  it  to  tlie  other.  The  result  was  that 
both  of  them  were  brought  at  that  time,  with  many  otliers, 
into  the  fold  of  Christ. 

Mr.  Duubai*'s  party  with  their  friends,  visited  Castle 
Grant,  around  which  in  his  mind  clustered  so  manv  recol- 
lections  of  boyhood,  with  its  wild  joys  and  its  hairbreadth  es- 
capes. After  entejring  the  gateway  tliey  rode  through  the 
beautiful  and  well-stocked  deer-park  to  the  castle,  which, 
however,  seemed  to  the  Americans  more  hke  a  large  man- 
sion-house, having  neither  turret  nor  tower,  and  lacking 
the  grandeur  we  attach  to  the  idea  of  a  castle.  They  en- 
tered first  the  armory,  the  wall  and  ceiling  of  which 
wore  covered  with  coats  of  mail,  shields,  swords,  pikes,  &c., 
ati  4  rtistically  arranged,  with  which  the  Grants  of  long 
Hgo  defended  themselves  and  their  castles  from  the  invasion 
of  rival  clans. 

A  stuffed  fox,  with  that  wily  look  which  belongs  of  right 
to  tlie  race,  stood  at  the  entrance ;  and  hollow  coats  of  mail, 
hanging  around,  seemed  like  grim  sentinels  guarding  the 
descendants  of  their  liege  lords  of  generations  gone  by.  Go- 
ing up  the  stairway,  pictures  of  Scripture  and  warlike 
scenes,  and  portraits  of  Grants  innumerable  met  the  eye. 
The  rooms  were  remarkable  for  their  size  and  ancient  ap- 
pearance more  tlian  for  their  magnificence,  the  arrange- 
ments being  suggestive  of  comfort  rather  than  of  display. 
There  were  chairs  covered  with  close  worsted  work,  and 
high  bedsteads  draped  with  curtains  of  the  same ;  and  a 
large  carpet  in  wrought  medallion  pattern  ;  —  much  of  this 
the  work  of  the  fair  fingers  of  the  ladies  of  this  long  line 
of  Grants.     But  the  flight  of  yeai's  has  dimmed  the  colors, 


THE  LAIRD  OF  DALVET. 


m 


as  it  has  also  the  eyes  of  those  who  once  hung  delighjbed 
over  it.     vi    •  ./:  .    .A^^^  i!i,-j. 

They  visited  what  is  called  the  "  haunted  room." 
A  former  Laird  of  Grant  once  occupied  this  as  his  own 
apartment,  but  on  one  occasion,  *  -e  house  being  full,  it  was 
given  over  to  a  guest.  A  w  aer,  which  was  a  great 
pet  with  the  laird,  and  wl  -allowed  free  access  to 

his  room,  stole  in  during  tj  iid  made  his  way  to 

the  bedside,  arousing  the  slcv^  i,  who,  putting  forth  his 
hands,  felt  the  horns.  These  appendages  were  suggest- 
ive of  any  but  a  welcome  visitor,  and  the  alarm  they 
caused  and  the  mirth  incident  upon  it  gave  its  name  to 
the  chamber. 

The  room  of  the  little  lord,  then  absent  with  his  parents, 
interested  them  much,  pervaded  as  it  seemed  to  be  with 
the  sweet  presence  of  innocence.  Child -life  is  the  same 
essentially  everywhere.  The  things  which  amuse  the  prat- 
tier  of  the  cottage  charm  also  the  pet  of  the  castle.  Pic- 
tures cut  from  illustrated  papers  were  on  the  walls  just  as 
he  left  them,  and  all  around  were  treasured  trifles  that 
proved  how  little  is  required  to  make  a  child  rich  and  hap- 
py. To  one  who  loved  the  young,  as  did  Mr.  Dunbar, 
these  were  very  touching,  and  we  doubt  not,  as  he  looked 
back  on  the  child's  ancestry  and  remembered  their  many 
noble  traits,  he  blessed  his  tiny  lordship,  who  would  all  too 
soon  forsake  this  pleasant  nursery  for  the  cares  and  temp- 
tationj^ncident  to  his  rank  in  life. 

From  Grantown  Mr.  Dunbar  went  to  Forres,  to  visit 
valued  and  honored  friends  there.  This  town  is  beauti- 
fully situated  on  a  natural  mound  so  regular  as  to  look  al- 
most as  if  thrown  up  by  art.  A  fine  ride  brought  them  to 
the  estate  of  the  Laird  of  Dalvey,  where  they  were  most 
cordially  received  and  hospitably  entertained.     The  place 

23 


>^^^ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


1.1 


11.25 


liAi|28  |25 

jy  ■^"  JJJi^H 

Ui  Uii  12.2 

^  u^  in 

!g   IAS  |2^ 

*^    i. 

■UUi. 


Kiotographic 

Sciences 

Corpordtion 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WnSTIR,  NY.  14SM 

(716)  •72-4S03 


0 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


18  a  Scottish  paradise,  which  seems  to  have  quite  escaped  the 
ruin  Adam  brought  on  nature^s  glory.  The  grounds  are 
laid  out  in  "  ribbon  beds,"  with  flowers  of  every  hue  and 
variety.  One  large  hot-house  was  devoted  entirely  to  fuch- 
sias, which  hung  from  the  glass  above  and  around,  like 
grapes  from  the  vine,  and  which  the  genial  laird  bestowed 
with  a  lavish  hand  on  his  delighted  guestj. 

The  museum  on  the  estate  is  filled  with  rare  and  beau- 
tiful things  from  every  land.  From  the  centre  of  a  pond 
filled  with  every  variety  of  lily,  rises  a  pagoda  in  which 
several  families  of  ducks  find  shelter  when  weary  of 
their  sports  in  the  water.  One  of  these  ducks  was  a 
South  Carolinian,  which  sat  on  the  little  island,  hanging  her 
head  very  mournfully,  the  laird  said,  because  she  had 
just  become  a  widow.  But  the  American  ladies  knew  a 
better  cause  than  that,  and  believed  it  was  for  very  sLame 
at  the  conduct  of  her  native  State  I 

Here  in  a  cage  as  large  as  a  summer-house  was  a  huge 
American  eagle  screeching  out  his  plea  for  his  country  and 
his  faith  in  her  triumph,  in  the  ears  of  the  kind-hearted 
laird.  There  was  an  ominous  contrast  between  his  proud 
confidence,  and  the  cowed  humility  of  the  duck  of  the 
"  chivalry." 

The  charms  of  Dalvey  House,  and  the  kindness  of  its 
owner,  will  ever  be  held  in  grateful  remembrance, by  those 
of  the  party  who  still  live. 

At  Elgin,  after  visiting  the  family  of  a  dear,  deceased 
friend  of  other  days,  —  Mr.  Peter  McDonald,  —  Mr.  Dun- 
bar took  his  companions  to  the  ruins  of  the  cathedral,  the 
most  stupendous  in  Scotland,  around  which  clusters  much 
uf  tradition  and  interest. 

Thence  tliey  went  to  the  beautifU  city  of  Inverness,  the 
f'oimor  home  of  Captain  Mcintosh,  where  they  passed 


TOUB  OF  THB  CALEDONIAN  CANAL. 


26T 


seviiral  days.  Its  natural  charms  are  very  great,  the  watom 
of  Loch  Ness  flowing  through  it,  bordered  on  either  side 
by  grounds  like  those  of  fairy-land,  these  being  connected 
by  tasteful  little  extension  bridges.  Here  rise,  beyond  the 
loch,  the  mountains  of  Craig  Phadrich  and  Tom  na 
heurich,  or  the  "  Hill  of  the  Fairies." 

The  party  made  the  tour  of  the  Caledonian  Canal, 
which  connects  the  five  lakes,  forming  a  water  passage  of 
sixty  miles  from  the  German  to  the  Atlantic  Oceans,  by 
the  noted  mountains  of  Ben  Nevis,  Ben  More,  Ben  Crua- 
chan,  and  Cairngorm.  Stopping  at  Oban,  they  took  a 
fine  steamer  through  the  Sound  of  Mull  to  the  wondrous 
Cave  of  Staffii,  passing  the  ruins  of  many  churches  and 
castles,  powerful  and  grand  in  limes  long  gone  by.  Leav- 
ing the  sound,  the  conflicting  channels  made  the  waves 
more  boisterous  than  they  were  at  any  time  on  the  pas- 
sage over  the  Atlantic  ;  so  it  was  impossible  to  reach 
the  cave  in  the  steamer.  Taking  small  boats,  they  ap- 
proached it  by  the  back  mouth,  the  waves  as  they  thought 
forbidding  any  attempt  to  reach  the  main  entrance.  The 
vigorous  among  the  tourists  —  there  was  quite  a  large  par- 
ty —  clambered  around  the  sides  of  the  cave  on  the  rugged 
blocks  of  stone,  holding  by  a  rope  fixed  there  for  the  pur- 
pose, and  thus  made  their  way  to  the  front.  For  this  ex- 
ploit, however,  all  had  not  strength  ;  and  Mr.  Dunbar, 
unwilling  to  deny  the  pleasure  to  any  one,  bribed  the  boat- 
men to  brave  the  billows  and  meet  the  others  at  the  main 
entrance.  Though  repeatedly  driven  back  after  having 
nearly  reached  it,  they  were  at  last  rewarded  for  their  per- 
severance by  a  full  view  of  this  stupendous  work  of  na- 
ture. 

On  their  return  to  Oban,  the  tourists  stopped  at  the 
famous  island  of  lona,  —  "  The  Holy  Isle,"  —  in  the  early 


268 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


t-T<>! 


«ges  a  seat  of  sacred  learning,  and  saw  the  ruins  of  the 
cathedral  and  abbey.  The  next  daj  they  passed  through 
the  Sound  of  Jura,  the  Grinan  Canal,  Loch  Tyne,  and 
the  Frith  of  Clyde,  to  Glasgow.  Here  a  week  was  passed 
visiting  places  of  interest;  and  here  Mr.  Dunbar  renewed 
and  enjoyed  again  old  friendships  and  tender  recollections. 

From  Glasgow  they  made  the  tour  of  the  Trosachs, 
passing  scenes  immortalized  by  Scott  in  "  Rob  Roy  "  and 
**  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  visited  Sterling  and  Dumbarton 
Castle  and  returned  to  Edinburgh  in  about  six  weeks  from 
the  time  they  left  it  for  the  North.  Here  they  went  to 
the  Castles,  where  is  still  exhibited  the  regalia  of  Scotland, 
—  the  crown,  the  sceptre,  and  the  sword  of  state.  -  ;  t* 

When  here,  a  quarter  of  a  century  before,  Mr.  Dunbar 
had  visited  and  preached  for  Mr.  Haldane.  He  was  now 
gone  from  earth ;  but  his  pulpit  was  filled  by  Rev.  Mr. 
Tulloch,  the  son  and  also  the  son-in-law  of  men  whom 
Mr.  Dunbar  had  known  and  loved  in  the  early  days  of 
his  ministry.  For  him  he  preached,  or,  as  he  still  «">id, 
"  talked  a  httle."  Every  step  he  had  taken  in  Sc<  d 
had  served  to  brighten  the  old  flame  of  love,  and  to 
strengthen  the  desire  for  the  advancement  of  the  Baptist 
cause  in  Scotland.  Still  he  was  "  ready  for  either,"  to  go 
there  and  toil,  or  to  stay  in  America,  and  cheer  on  those 
who  did  so.  He  felt  the  scattered  materials  in  all  the 
small  places  too  valuable  to  be  lost,  and  still  believed  that 
they  would  become  a  strong  denomination,  if  they  could 
but  yield  their  minor  differences,  and  come  together  on  a 
common  scriptural  platform. 

From  Edinburgh  Mr.  Dunbar  and  his  companions  went 
to  York,  where  they  visited  the  Minster,  the  finest  speci- 
men of  Gothic  architecture  in  Europe,  and  afterward  to 
London,  where   they  spent   several  weeks   enjoying  th« 


EXTRACTS  OP  LETTERS. 


269 


wonders  o£  art,   seeing  places  of  historic  interest,   and', 
listening  to  ministers  whose  names  are  familiar  to  us  in 
America*  .*-*/»=• -nwriftTf^vi'v^;—    ■/■ — '■'■■■'V•^,  ;';,.-.',-■.«    '- 

Writing  from  London,  Mr.  Dunbar  says : —  "^  '?*  "*^^- 
"  I  cannot  feel  thankful  enough  tiiat  there  are  yet  S6 
many  left  on  earth  to  care  for  and  love  me.  I  never  real- 
ized this  before  as  I  have  done  in  reading  the  letters  re- 
ceived from  each  of  you,  my  own  dear,  dear  daughters. 
May  the  Lord  spare  and  dispose  all  your  own  children 
to  return  you  the  like  kindness  in  your  own  days  of  lone- 
liness and  old  age  I     God  bless  you  all  I  "         .         .         . 

Again,    in  a  joint  letter  to  two  sons-in-law,  he  writei 
from  the  same  place  : —  . 


»krl4'U,jir  .>♦#." 


(( 


Dear  J.  and  G.,  I  hate  to  speak  of  myself;  but  must 
"feay  to  the  praise  of  the  divine  goodness,  that  I  feel  my 
health  wonderfully  improved  by  the  climate  and  the  rest  I 
am  having.  I  have  m^  cares,  especially  about  dear  M.  and 
the  church  ;  but  all  these  and  the  interests  of  my  own  soul 
I  can  now  and  then  —  only  now  and  then  —  cast  upon 
Him  who  has  done  such  great  thinf|s  for  me  and  mine 
ever  since  I  have  had  a  being  on  his  footstool.  I  must 
say  here,  that  I  shall  ever  retain  a  grateful  sense  of  your 
kindness  first  and  last  to  me  and  mine,  —  the  living  and  the 
beloved  dead.  We  often  speak  of  you  since  we  left  home, 
—  I  mean  since  we  left  New  York ;  for  I  have  no  homt 
now,  —  I  only  *  live  out.'  The  Lord  reward  you  both, 
and  the  childre,i  you  took  away  from  me! 

"  Divide  this  letter  among  yourselves  in  the  two  fami- 
lies, and  believe  me  your  affectionate  father." 

From  England  the  little  party  went  to  France.  While 
attending  the  ladies  to  places  which  most  interested  them 
m  Paris,  Mr.  Dunbar's  own  tastes  led  him  to  examine  the 


270 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


city  with  the  great  pubHc  works  then  in  progress,  that  he 
might  know  what  Napoleon  was  doing  for  his  people.  H« 
was  pained  at  the  perfectly  Sabbathless  appearance  of  the 
city  on  the  Lord's  day,  —  the  open  stores,  the  mmbUng 
teams,  and  the  sounding  hammer  proving  it  a  perfectly 
godless  place.  He  expressed  great  surprise  when  he  looked 
in,  on  a  week-day,  to  the  Catholic  churches,  to  see  the  con- 
gregations composed  almost  entirely  of  females,  —  there 
being  but  one  or  two  men  to  a  hundred  women,  and  these 
oftener  there  as  beggars  than  as  worshippers.  He  spent  no 
holy  time  in  viewing  magnificent  architecture,  or  in  listen- 
ing to  artistic  music  and  popish  mummeries,  but  made  his 
Sabbaths,  as  at  home,  holiness  unto  the  Lord.  He  heard 
and  preached  for  Dr.  McClintock,  at  the  American 
Chapel.         -•'-(    '         ^^ 

He  did  not  enjoy  his  sojourn  in  France  as  he  had  done 
that  in  England  and  Scotland;  as,  being  a  stranger  to 
their  language,  he  could  not  enlighten  the  subjects  of 
Napoleon  on  the  great  interests  at  issue  in  the  American 
struggle.  Neither  could  he  find  much  sympathy  among 
our  agreeable  and  courteous  countrymen  whom  he  met  at 
his  hotel ;  for  they  were  all  bitter  foes  to  the  Union,  al- 
though not  warm  enough  friends  to  the  Confederacy  to 
stay  at  home  and  aid  her  in  the  conflict. 

The  party,  after  spending  a  few  weeks  in  Paris,  re- 
turned to  London,  whence,  after  a  few  days,  they  took 
the  steamer  for  New  York,  having  been  absent  nearly 
five  months. 

The  third  night  out,  which  was  that  of  Thanksgiving 
at  home,  the  ship  was  struck  by  a  tremendous  gale,  and 
went  over  at  once  on  to  her  side.  A  mast  was  twisted 
off  like  a  twig,  and  its  weight  seemed  bearing  her  down 
to  destruction.     The  confusion  on  deck,  with  the  running 


A  OALE  AT   SEA. 


271 


and  shouting  and  sawing,  together  with  the  shrieks  of  the 
passengers,  who  rushed  about  half-clad  in  the  darkness, 
made  the  scene  truly  terrific.  The  bulwarks  were  car- 
ried away,  and  the  ship's  side  was  stove  in  by  the  falling 
mast,  so  that  the  water  was  rushing  into  the  steerage,  cre> 
ating  great  terror  among  the  poor  emigrants  crowded  to- 
gether there.  There  were  two  Catholic  priests  on  board, 
—  one  in  the  steerage,  and  one  in  the  cabin ;  and  this 
alarm  g8.ve  them  plenty  of  business.  In  the  midst  of  the 
confusion,  one  of  these  arrayed  himself  in  his  canonicals 
and  went  down  to  "  confess  "  the  frantic  creatures,  who  be- 
lieved their  last  hour  had  come.  One  poor  girl,  who  was 
on  her  way  to  a  new  home  with  an  aged  father,  became 
perfectly  distracted,  and  remained  a  maniac  as  long  as  her 
fellow-passengers  kept  sight  of  her,  —  a  sad  ending  of 
bright  hopes. 

At  the  first  alarm,  and  before  Mr.  Dunbar  had  left  his 
berth,  a  strong  man,  who  had,  before  this,  seemed  to  have 
little  fear  of  God  before  him,  rushed  into  his  state-room 
and  implored  him  to  rise  and  pray  for  him.  Others,  who 
had  more  self-control,  were  as  glad  to  listen  to  his  words 
of  comfort  and  encouragement.  When  he  could  disen- 
gage himself  from  them,  he  went  to  his  companions  to  let 
them  know  the  extent  of  the  damage,  and  to  urge  them  — 
had  it  been  necessary  —  to  be  calm.  Then  ladies  from  the 
next  state-rooms  ran  in  ;  and  he,  in  perfect  composure,  led 
their  minds  to  Him  who  is  the  only  refuge  in  time  of  peril. 

This  gale  continued  five  days ;  the  ship,  being  somewhat 
disabled,  laboring  terribly  to  mount  the  billows,  and  the 
water  at  times  threatening  to  put  out  the  fires.  All 
through  these  days,  Mr.  Dunbar's  little  Bible  was  his 
constant  companion  ;  and,  as  he  read,  he  marked  many 
passages  referring  to  the  sea  and  its  dangei's,  and  to  God's 


272 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


care  of  those  who  upou  its  t'  oubled  waves,  put  their  trust 
in  him. 

When  it  became  calm  again,  and  the  immediate  fear 
was  over,  those  who  had  manifested  such  alarm  and 
begged  for  prayers,  and  had  followed  the  godly  man  about 
as  if  safe  in  his  shadow,  became  very  brave.  One  of 
these,  seeing  the  Bible  alluded  to  lying  on  the  cabin  table, 
took  it  up,  and,  turning  over  the  leaves,  saw  the  marked 
passages,  when  he  said,  jestingly,  "  Some  folks  were 
pretty  well  frightened  in  the  gale,  I  should  think,  by  the 
way  they  marked  up  this  book !  '*  •  >  ^  »  .-^-i^Rfiafc ;;,..; 
*  And  yet  he  was  glad,  on  that  night  of  fear,  to  catch 
the  tones  of  a  praying  voice,  and  to  grasp  the  mantle  of 
a  man  of  God!       -■'■'  -      ..-j,--.ji-,c  ;>},;:  <tv   •M-"y'^  ^-^-v^v- 

'  The  voyage  was  protracted  to  sixteen  days  by  the  bois- 
terous weather  and  the  condition  of  the  ship ;  and,  much 
as  Mr.  Dunbar  loved  the  sea,  he  was  rejoiced  once  more 
to  reach  home  and  greet  his  family  and  his  beloved  peo- 
ple. Invigorated  by  the  rest  he  had  enjoyed,  he  at  once 
entered  fully  into  the  work  he  loved,  not  as  an  old  man 
rousing  himself  to  a  final  effort,  but  with  the  energy  of 
one  just  putting  his  hand  to  the  plough. 

Amid  all  the  changes  and  enjoyments  of  his  absence,  he 
did  not  forget  the  poor  pensioners  he  left  behind.  Just  as 
he  was  leaving  his  home  for  the  steamer,  a  forlorn  stranger 
had  called  to  beg  for  his  interference  to  save  her  fi*om  im- 
prisonment, —  unjust,  according  to  her  statement.  It 
was  his  last  hour  at  home,  and  he  could  only  commend 
her  to  some  other  merciful  man  for  help  and  pity. 

Almost  the  first  word  he  uttered,  on  again  entering  his 
own  room  afler  the  voyage,  was  to  his  nephew,  "  Well, 
Willie,  what  became  of  my  poor  client.  Were  you  able  to 
keep  her  out  of  prison  ?  '* 


GROWING  MEET  FOB  HEAVLN. 


273 


One  of  his  sons-in-law  said  to  him  at  this  time,  "  Whji 
Either,  you  do  not  look  a  day  older  than  when  you  left." 

"  My  son,  I  did  not  go  to  Scotland  to  grow  older^'*  he 
replied  with  a  smile. 

Soon  after  his  return,  he  visited  his  children  in  Massa- 
chusetts. Not  one  of  his  grand-children  had  been  forgot- 
ten in  his  travels,  but  each  had  a  little  keej)8ake  from 
over  the  sea.  No  trouble  was  too  great,  if  thereby  he. 
could  make  young  hearts  happy.  Long  and  vainly  will 
they  look  for  another  such  friend  to  sympathize  in  tlieir 
feelings,  and  to  meet  their  childish  wants,  as  if  he  himsdf 
had  never  grown  old. 

Ho  performed  all  his  labor  through  the  following  win- 
ter and  spring  with  his  usual  energy,  only  that  he  occa- 
sionally complained  of  weariness,  and  was  more  willing 
than  formerly  to  lie  down  during  the  day  for  rest.  Those 
beneath  the  same  roof  with  him,  who  were  wakeful  in 
the  small  hours  of  morning,  heard  from  his  study  his 
strong  cries  unto  God.  Shortly  before  his  prayers  on 
earth  were  changed  for  praise  in  heaven,  did  the  dear 
friend,  in  whose  dwelling  the  mortal  put  on  immortality, 
hear  his  voice  breaking  the  stillness  of  night  with  plead- 
ing and  groanings  which  could  not  be  suppressed.  Who 
shall  know  the  burden  of  those  prayers,  which  now  are 
ended  ?  The  country  that  he  loved,  the  church  so  dear 
to  him,  the  children  of  his  heart,  the  poor,  the  sick,  the 
dying,  the  souls  yet  in  sin,  for  whom  he  must,  in  a  meas- 
ure, give  account,  —  all  were  then,  doubtless,  borne  upward 
on  the  wings  of  his  faith.  Who  will  now  love  these  as  he 
loved  ?  who  pray  for  them  as  he  prayed  ?  and  who,  in 
their  hours  of  darkness,  prevail  as  he  prevailed  ?  God 
help  the  weak,  when  the  strong  staff  and  the  beautiful  rod 
is  broken  1  ,  . 


.t-    i^>^f-*j!:.»^:^^  :vy^ly{,.i: 


^a^^"iM>w^nn,.     CHAPTER  XXVII.     ■;»/:■    •;ii^.i^,«r- 


«6Wn> 


Attend!  the  Mliwionftry  Meetings  in  Philadelphia— A  Silver  Wedding—  A  Visit  to  Too* 
Iceni  —  Increase  of  Labor  —  A  Last  Parting. 

i)N  May  following  Mr.  Dunbar's  return  from  Europe, 
he  attended  the  anniversaries  of  the  Missionary  Union 
and  other  societies  in  Philadelphia.  He  was  then  in 
his  usual  health,  and  enjoyed  greatly  the  reunion 
with  his  beloved  ministering  brethren,  and  also  with 
the  members  of  his  former  flock.  Even  here,  per- 
sonal ease  and  gratification  were  forgotten ;  and,  to  the 
disappointment  of  many  who  were  hoping  for  a  share  of  his 
company  in  their  homes,  he  assumed  work  when  he  should 
have  given  himself  up  to  rest.  At  the  earnest  solicitation 
of  friends  he  went  to  Allentown,  Pennsylvania,  to  preach 
for  and  encourage  a  little  church  in  which,  from  its  organ- 
ization, —  truly  a  day  of  small  things  —  he  had  been 
greatly  interested.  He  also  preached  for  his  grandson. 
Rev.  Morris  Sutplien,  of  the  Spring  Garden  Presbyterian 
Church,  in  whose  pulpit  his  genial  spirit  and  sound 
orthodoxy  always  found  a  welcoiiie.  Here  he  labored 
and  enjoyed  not  a  little;  and  afler  visiting  and  blessing 
his  three  little  great- grandchildren^  he  returned  to  his 
home  where  there  was  work  awaiting  him  enough  to  try 
the  powers  of  one  just  putting  on  the  harness.  It  might 
seem  as  if  the  toils  of  nearly  four  score  years  had  won  for 
him  the  right  to  rest ;  but  he  neither  asked  nor  desired  it. 
As  the  season  advanced  his  labor  at  sick-beds  and  fu 

(274) 


A   SILVER   WEDDING. 


276 


nerals  increased,  the  larger  portion  of  it  being  beyond  the 
bounds  of  his  own  congregation.  One  Sabbath  he  preached 
twice,  and  at  six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  attended  a  funer- 
al a  long  distance  from  his  home.  As  he  entered  the  house 
of  mourning,  he  was  told  that  another  dear  child  of  the 
family  was  very  ill  with  the  sad  disease  which  had  laid  this 
one  in  its  cofBn  —  diphtheria.  After  the  solemn  services, 
he  hastened  home  to  tea,  and  thence  to  his  evening  meeting, 
which  he  conducted,  as  was  his  custom,  with  remarks  and 
exhortations,  longer  than  the  sermons  of  our  younger  min- 
isters, —  work  enough,  one  would  think,  for  a  single  day  I 
But  hardly  was  he  seated  for  rest  in  his  study,  after  his  re- 
turn fi-om  the  vestry,  than  he  was  again  sent  for.  The  other 
child  of  that  stricken  family  had  died,  and  they  desired 
to  have  its  funeral  at  ten  o'clock  at  night,  that  the  two  lit- 
tle forms  might  be  taken  away  together  by  an  early  morn- 
ing train  for  burial  at  a  distance.  He  was  at  this  time  also 
a  constant  visitor  at  the  sick-beds  of  several  strangers. 
All  this  he  accepted  as  a  part  of  his  ministry,  which  was, 
in  his  view,  to  men  and  not  to  one  particular  church  only. 

About  this  time,  Mr.  Dunbar  was  sent  for  to  attend  a 
silver  wedding  given  by  the  Reformed  Dutch  Church  of 
Bedminster,  New  Jersey,  to  Rev.  William  Brush,  their 
pastor  and  his  son-in-law.  Thithe?  Le  went  full  of  spirit, 
and  found  himself  surrounded  by  a  beloved  circle  of  chil- 
dren, grandchildren,  and  great-grandchildren.  The  richly 
laden  tables  were  tastefully  spread  on  the  lawn  in  front  of 
the  beautiful  parsonage,  with  the  skill  as  well  as  pro- 
fuseness  in  which  the  ladies  of  that  region  excel. 

When  the  out-door  entertainment  was  over,  the  host  of 
friends,  who  had  gathered  to  congratulate  their  pastor  on 
God's  mercy  to  him  and  his  family,  passed  into  the  parlors, 
where  was  spread  out,  in  glittering  array,  the  silver-plate, 


276 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


with  other  rich  and  beautiful  things  they  had  brouglit,  to 
show  that  his  work  was  appreciated  among  them.  After 
some  preliminaries,  Mr.  Dunbar  was  called  on  for  a  speech. 
Of  this  we  can  give  no  minute  sketch.  He  said,  "  This  is 
a  silver  wedding,  friends,  which  I  presume  means  that  your 
pastor  has  invited  us  all  here  that  he  may  present  each  of  us, 
his  guests,  with  a  piece  of  silver  I  He  then  told  them  that 
many  years  ago,  when  visiting  at  a  friend's  house  with  his 
eldest  daughter,  he  met  a  young  student  from  Rutger's 
Seminary,  who  conceived  a  great  attachment  for  him.  He 
soon  called  on  him  to  borrow  a  theological  book,  which  he 
read  in  an  inconceivably  short  space  of  time  and  brought 
back  I  At  this  visit  he  asked  the  loan  of  another  work 
from  Mr.  Dunbar's  library,  which  in  its  turn  was  read  in 
a  wonderfully  short  space  of  time,  and  exchanged  hv 
another  I  And  thus  his  books  went  and  came,  until  lie 
began  strongly  to  suspect  they  were  never  read  at  all  I 
And  soon  the  young  man  ceased  to  be  satisfied  with  his 
books,  and  wanted  his  daughter  I  That  young  man,  he 
told  them,  was  now  their  pastor,  and  the  rest  they  knew. 
Mr.  Dunbar,  by  his  cheerfulness  and  pleasantry,  made 
himself  the  charm  of  the  hour  ;  but  this  opportunity,  like 
all  others  which  came  in  his  way,  was  seized  on  to  impress 
on  the  minds  of  old  and  young  their  obligations  to  God 
for  temporal  and  spiritual  good,  and  their  solemn  rela- 
tions to  him.  With  Mr.  Dunbar,  an  innocent  merry-mak- 
ing was  always  turned  to  as  good  account  for  the  benefit 
of  others  as  was  any  solemn  event.  He  never  forced 
religion  rudely  forward  on  any  occasion  ;  but  brought  it  in 
gently  and  with  such  a  charm  as  made  it  always  seem  nat- 
ural ;  and  thus  was  his  Master  welcomed  and  honored  in 
many  a  place,  where,  with  another's  introduction,  he 
might  have  been  thrust  out  without  a  hearing. 


CHABACTERISTICS. 


277 


I,;  One  of  hU  daughters  visited  him  about  this  time,  audi 
lie  greatly  enjoyed  talking  "with  her  of  his  voyage  and  his 
travels  abroad ;  but  more  particularly  of  the  beloved  dead 
whose  memory,  ever  precious,  was  brought  up  anew  ut 
the  family  meetings,  where  their  presence  was  so  sadly 
missed.  His  time  was  now  much  broken  up  by  applica- 
tions for  help  of  all  kinds,  and  he  requested  her  to  make 
several  calls  for  him  on  fiimily  friends,  and  also  on  some 
of  the  sick,  to  explain  the  reason  of  his  not  coming.  He 
was  greatly  troubled  by  hearing,  on  his  return  from 
Philadelphia,  that  his  dear  friend  and  efficient  helper.  Dea- 
con G.,  was  ill,  and  he  could  not  wait  till  his  leisure  came, 
to  learn  that  he  was  better.  Never  will  his  messenger  for- 
get the  gratitude  expressed  in  his  countenance,  when  told 
that  this  good  man  was  restored  to  his  usual  health.  That 
gratitude  extended  to  the  one  who  brought  the  news,  and 
he  thanked  her  again  and  again  for  thus  relieving  his  mind. 
This  daughter  accompanied  him  on  Sabbath  evening 
down  to  his  meeting.  His  theme  was  Heaven  ;  and  his 
own  remarks  and  prayers,  as  well  as  those  of  the  brethren, 
were  fervent  and  impressive.  Mr.  Dunbar  gave  out  and 
joined  in  singing  that  beautiful  hymn  appreciated  only  by 
those  who,  having  given  themselves  to  God,  are  longing  for 
the  time  "^hen  they  may  serve  him  perfectly  day  and  night 
in  his  temple : —     ,t'r  -   -<•  ■     ^  •.,.   r.         -:-, 


.'I 


*  We  speak  of  the  realms  of  the  blest, — 
That  country  so  bright  and  so  fair,— 

And  oft  are  its  glories  confessed ; 
Bat  what  most  it  be  to  be  there  ?  "    ; 


At  the  close  of  the  service,  the  flock  gathered  as  usual 
around  the  desk ;  for  we  believe  no  one  was  wont  to  leave 


278 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


tho  McDougal  Street  vestry  in  those  days  without  taking 
the  hand  of  the  pastor ;  —  Hke  a  scattered  family  meeting  at 
night  around  their  father,  each  to  recount  his  progress 
through  the  day,  and  to  learn  of  the  prosperity  or  the 
trials  of  the  others. 

On  leaving  the  place  and  walking  homeward,  Mr.  Dun- 
bar remarked,  ^^  This  is  a  long  walk  for  an  old  man  like 
me  ;  but  that  is  all ;  I  am  as  comfortable  as  I  can  be ;  they 
are  all  so  kind  and  attentive  to  me." 

"He  now  complained  often  of  being  tired,  and  would 
frequently  say,  "  I  am  getting  to  be  an  old  man,"  —  a  new 
admission  for  him.  When  going  to  lie  down  in  the  day  for 
rest,  he  still  always  requested  to  be  spoken  to  when  any  one 
called  for  him.  Often  he  would  be  disturbed  two  or  three 
times  by  the  door-boll  before  he  could  find  an  hour  for 
sleep. 

There  were  no  idle  moments  in  those  few  remaining 
days  of  his  blessed  life. 

He  went  up  the  Hudson,  about  this  time,  to  meet  a  little 
party  of  children  and  grandchildren  at  Yonkers,  and  there 
seemed  as  youthful  in  spirit  as  ever,  entering  heartily  into 
the  amusements  enjoyed  with  such  a  keen  relish  by  the 
young.  At  the  table,  where  was  gathered  a  little  social 
party,  he  interested  them  there  by  relating  incidents  in 
his  early  ministry,  proving  how  certainly  God  will  aid 
those,  however  w^eak  and  feeble,  who  resolve  to  establish 
churches  to  his  glory,  proving  his  statements  by  referring 
to  the  Eastport  and  South  Berwick  (Me.)  churches,  and 
also  many  others  where  men  and  women  resolved  to  make 
personal  .sacrifice  for  Christ's  sake.  He  also  gave  some 
accounts  of  great  revi\als  in  the  past,  particularly  tho 
one  in  Nobleboro',  mentioned  in  the  preceding  pages. 

At  table  he  asked  pleasantly  of  the  pastor  of  the  Yon- 


VISIT  TO   YONKEBS. 


279 


kers  Church,  who  was  present,  "  Brother  C,  are  my  chil- 
dren here  kind  to  you  ? "  and,  on  being  answered  to  his 
satisfaction,  he  smiled,  and  said,  "  That  is  right.  If  ever 
the  time  comes  when  they  are  not  so,  you  must  come 
down  to  the  city  and  let  me  know,  and  I  shall  come  up 
and  see  to  them.  Ministers'  children  know  the  trials  of  a 
minister,  and  of  all  others  they  should  be  good  parish- 
ioners." 

And  once  again  in  a  few  weeks  he  repeated  this  visit 
for  a  change  and  rest.  The  weather  was  exceedingly  hot, 
and  he  was  urged  to  remain  at  least  one  day  longer  ;  but 
he  could  not  be  prevailed  upon,  as  "  his  hands  were  so  full." 
He  visited  the  families  of  Mr.  Stewart,  Mr.  Trevor,  and 
Mr.  Jacob  Hays,  all  of  whom  were  then  or  had  been 
members  of  his  church  in  McDougal  Street.  The  mother 
of  Mr.  Hays,  a  friend  long  and  highly  esteemed  by  Mr. 
Dunbar,  was  at  the  time  very  ill,  and  he  expressed  great 
fears  that  if  he  did  not  go  then  he  might  never  see 
her  again  in  life.  Well  was  it  that  he  pursued  his  own 
way  and  made  these  visits ;  for  they  were  the  last  to  those 
dear  friends,  who  for  so  many  years  had  welcomed  him 
to  their  homes  with  cordial  and  affectionate  hospitality. 

When  Mr.  Dunbar's  children,  who  had  been  visiting  in 
New  York,  left  for  New  England  with  a  little  family  party, 
he  met  them  at  the  Boston  boat  some  time  before  the  hour 
for  sailing,  and  sat  with  them  on  the  deck,  talking  in  his 
most  sprightly  and  entertaining  manner.  Never  did  He  seem 
more  full  of  life  and  energy  than  when  he  there  spoke  of  his 
jirojected  visit  to  them,  and  sent  messages  ot  love  to  those 
at  their  homes.  But  the  victor's  race  was  almost  run,  and 
the  crown,  unseen  by  our  poor  vision,  was  even  then  de- 
scending on  him,  —  so  soon  to  become  a  king  and  a  priest 
unto  God. 


280 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


This  parting  was  not  in  gloom  or  in  tears,  dearly  as  this 
father  was  loved  by  his  children  ;  for  they  did  not  realize, 
that  his  age,  added  to  all  the  other  uncertainties  of  life,  made 
another  meeting  on  earth  doubtful.  It  was  only  regarded 
as  saying  "  good-by  "  for  a  few  weeks,  until  his  summer's 
vacation  should  give  him  time  to  visit  them,  and  "  to  grow 
young  again  in  the  bracing  air  of  New  England." 

But  for  them  there  was  to  be  no  meeting  again,  until 
the  one  in  that  home  where  they  shaU  go  no  more  out  for- 
ever and  where :  — 


"  They  who  have  safely  gone  before, 
"  ■  Whose  feet  grow  weary  never  more, 

Receive  in  that  dear  land  of  bliss 
All  their  souls  panted  for  in  this ; 
And  their  enjoyment  ours  shall  be 
When  we  have  crossed  the  crystal  sea." 

Amid  the  waves  and  storms  that  for  six  months  beat 
around  the  frail  "  Halifax  Packet,"  when  wreck  and  star- 
vation seemed  vying  with  each  othfer  for  the  prey,  there 
rode  another  bark,  bound  for  the  same  port.  In  the 
first  was  the  man  of  God  in  his  early  strength,  girded  for 
the  strife,  panting  for  victory  in  his  Master's  cause,  and 
unwearied  in  his  efforts  to  win  over  his  foes ;  on  the  other 
a  young  sailor-boy,  regardless  of  his  eternal  interests,  and 
anxious  only  to  escape  the  dangers  of  the  sea,  and  to  reacli 
the  desired  li;.»en.  The  same  gale  may  have  filled  their 
sails,  tile  same  waves  washed  their  vessels'  sides  in  the 
darkness  ;  but  they  did  not  see  each  other's  faces  then. 
Long  years  after  tliis,  however,  they  met  as  pastor  and 
hearer  in  McDougal  Street,  and  a  strong  personal  friend- 
ship grew  up  between  them. 

Years  ago,  when  Mr.  Dunbar's  family  were  about  him, 
he  was  at  the  house  of  this  friend,  Mr.  George  H.  Irwin, 


VISIT  TO   YONKEES. 


281 


with  Mrs.  Dunbar,  at  a  social  visit.  He  made  some  remark 
on  the  large  hospitality  of  his  house,  and  said,  in  his  pe- 
culiar manner  when  in  pleasantry,  "  When  I  have  no 
home  of  my  own  I  shall  know  where  to  come."  Mr. 
Irwin  replied,  "  If  that  time  ever  comes,  you  shall  have 
a  home  here,  Mr.  Dunbar."  Neither  of  them  dreamed 
that  tlie  contract  thus  playfully  made  would  ever  be  ful- 
fi'led ;  but,  long  after  this,  when  Mr.  Dunbar  sougiit 
permanency  elsewhere  in  vain,  this  door  was  open  to  him  ; 
and  here  he  found  a  home  in  place  of  the  one  death  had 
destroyed.  y 

For  a  few  short  months  these  kind  friends  ministered  to 
his  wants,  and  bore  patiently  with  the  poor,  the  sorrowful, 
and  the  erring  who  came  seeking  their  unwearying 
helper ;  and  then  the  angel  of  death  visited  their  dwell- 
ing, clothed  in  no  terror,  and  bore  him  away  to  the  joys 
of  his  Lord.  No  strange  hands  were  allowed  to  minister 
to  his  wants  ;  no  harsh  sounds  to  break  upon  his  ear ;  but 
everything  that  love  and  kindness  could  do  w  is  done  to 
save  his  life  and  to  soothe  his  departing  spirit.  The  grati- 
tude of  afflicted  children  and  of  a  bereaved  church  will 
ever  be  theirs,  and  the  prayer  that  they  in  their  old  age  and 
dying  hours  may  be  cheered  by  the  same  tenderness  which 
they  manifested  toward  this  beloved  and  honored  servant 
of  God. 

a** 


,.  iji^-  ■"  ii^n«M'(.*.  *'i,-  'isJuM,'.  V'j.v>JM*..  Uiiiji*,:  i  V  »-<^R-'  ''Wsj:^*^^^'**^^?^!.-' 

;-ttf;»ipa(t,%i,.ui(*H?-:     CHAPTER  XXVIII.  :''--'¥M:--''^.mii0.'-. 

lOt  iMi  SikblMtti— niBMi— Only  Ohrist— Awdety  Ibr  the  Ohoidi  wid  the  Ooanti^— 
A  Blenwl  Yidt  —  Setting  his   Houm  In  Order  —  Tlui  Valley  made  Light  —  Vlfloni 
•  H  of  Qlory  —  g3A  at  Home  —  Fanend  and  Burial  — funeral  Sermon. 

|N  Sabbath,  July  16,  Mr.  Dunbar  preached  as  usual 
to  his  own  people.  In  the  morning  his  text  was 
Psalms  XXX vii.  8 :  **  Trust  in  the  Lord  and  do 
good ;  so  shalt  thou  dwell  in  the  land,  and  verily 
thou  shalt  be  fed  ;  "  and  in  the  afternoon,  the  last 
clause  of  the  10th  verse  of  the  Slst  Psalm :  "  Open 
thy  mouth,  and  I  will  fill  it."  He  spoke  with  his  ac- 
customed vigor,  and  most  impressively ;  a  dear  friend  say- 
ing as  she  walked  home,  "  If  I  should  never  again  hear 
Mr.  Dunbar  preach,  I  shall  remember  what  I  have  heard 
to-day  through  life." 

On  Monday  night  he  was  attacked  with  dysentery,  ac- 
companied by  faintness,  and  not  being  better  the  next  day, 
his  daughter  living  in  Jersey  City,  was  sent  for ;  the 
youngest  one  being  at  the  time  absent  from  him  on  a  visit. 
She  found  him  suffering  very  severely,  but  patient,  submis- 
sive, and  resigned  to  God's  will. 

"  All  Monday  night,"  she  writes,  "  I,  with  our  kind 
friend.  Miss  L.,  watched  M'ith  him.  He  never  for  one  mo- 
ment slept,  but  prayed  incessantly  for  patience  and  strength 
to  bear  all  that  might  be  laid  upon  him. 

For  three  days  and  nights  his  sufferings  were  extreme  : 
he  was  nervous  and  much  excited,  so  that  it  was  very  dif- 

(28S) 


H^I^AST  ILLNESS, 


268 


ficult  to  keep  him  quiet    He  once  said  '*  Oh,  I  wish  I  hadji 
all  my  children  about  me  t "  It  was  proposed  to  send  at  once 
for  them ;  but  he  replied,  "  not  yet :  I  do  not  like  to  give 
them  a  false  alarm.'*4<i?)&^;^4;„^^e:;iifj}i«^).:.-5--^.--^^>^^ 

Everything  that  affectionate  daughters  and  sons,  physi- 
cians and  friends  could  do,  was  done  for  him ;  and  on  Fri- 
day the  21st,  he  seemed  improving,  but  said  to  his  son-in- 
law,  Rev.  Mr.  Parmly,  '^Sometimes  I  think  I  shall  never 
preach  again,  and  it  becomes  a  solemn  thought  whether  I 
have  done  my  whole  duty  and  am  accepted  in  Christ !  O 
my  son,  preach  Christ  I  None  but  Jesus  can  do  helpless 
sinners  good."  On  Saturday  he  continued  better.  On 
Sunday,  in  her  efforts  to  keep  him  quiet,  his  daughter  asked 
if  she  should  read  aloud.  **  No,"  he  said,  "  my  brain  is  too 
restless."  Then  she  asked,  *^May  I  repeat  some  of  your 
favorite  hymns  ?  " 

**  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  say  your  dear  mother's  hymn :  — 


i-ij «  »r 


'Ye  angels  who  stand  round  the  throne—'" 
adding,  with  deep  feeling,  — 


.;■*/ 


" '  I  want  to  put  on  my  attire,     ^»  ft.     "  ? 
Washed  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.' 


You  and  dear  Mrs.  I.  think  I  ought  to  keep  still ;  but 
since  I  have  been  lying  here,  suffering  in  the  body,  I  have 
had  such  views  of  eternity,  such  a  sense  of  my  sinfulness  I 
My  whole  life  appears  now  one  continued  scene  of  rebel- 
lion against  God !  How  solemn  to  appear  before  the  Judge 
of  the  whole  earth  I  But  my  sins  are  not  laid  to  my  own 
charge  1  The  blessed  Redeemer  stands  between  the  naked 
sinner  and  his  offended  God."     o^t   .4      .m.       >•  »»  .  ^:  n-nirj 

Then  he  began  to  plead  with  Christ  that  he  would  in- 
tercede for  him  with  the  Father.  „,    ,. 

His  daughter  said,  "Father,  it  must  now  be  a  great 


2U 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


comfort  to  you  that  you  have  brought  so  many  souls,  in> 
Btrumentally,  to  Christ,  and  comforted  and  encouraged  so 
many  fainting  saints."    "  Oh,"  he  cried, "  that  is  nothing  1 
'Knowledge  alas,  'tis  all  in  vain,   ?S»aSfm^'*fc:^ft^r- 

jpt  M'iftf?  r?"r  IP  foye  be  wanting  there.' "       >■■     ■  <  ., 

These  remarks  were  not  made  as  if  he  doubted  his  in- 
terest in  Christ ;  but  rather  to  show  how  fully  he  trusted 
in  his  blood  alone,  aside  from  all  works.  The  one  sacri- 
fice for  sin,  which  he  had  so  long  preached  to  others^  was 
now  his  own  sole  and  perfect  reliance. 

As  the  hour  for  the  prayer-meeting  drew  near,  he  said, 
"  See,  my  dear,  who  of  the  family  are  going  to-night.*  —  1 
cannot ;  but  oh,  if  God  would  only  permit  me  once  more 
to  stand  before  that  dear  people,  I  would  talk  to  them  as  I 
never  talked  before  I    Oh,  how  I  would  lament  my  past 


1  So  important  for  the  life  of  the  church  did  Mr.  Dunbar  always  consider 
a  regular  attendance  of  the  members  on  the  devotional  meetings,  that  in 
one  of  the  Association  letters,  he  asks  the  body  to  decide  the  question, 
"  What  course  shall  churches  pursue  toward  those  of  their  members  who, 
living  convenient  to  the  place  of  worship,  and  being  in  perfect  health, 
habitually  absent  themselves  from  prayer-meetings,  shun  the  society  of  their 
Christian  brethren,  and  choose  that  of  the  world  ?  " 

The  following  year,  in  accounting  for  a  large  number  of  exclusions, 
the  letter  states  that  the  fellowship  of  the  church  was  witlidrawn,  in  nearly 
all  those  cases,  for  absence  from  the  prayer-meeting  and,  for  refusing,  when 
perfectly  able  to  tlo  it,  to  aid  in  sustaining  the  ordinances  of  God's  house. 

In  the  year  1847,  Mr.  Dunbar's  people  were  able  to  make  the  following 
statement  in  their  association  al  letter,  comforting  indeed  to  one  whose  views 
of  discipline  were  as  rigid  as  his  :  "  No  case  of  discipline  has  called  for  the 
action  of  this  church  since  we  last  addressed  your  respected  body  and  for 
months  before,  except  one  —  the  exclusion  of  a  brother  residing  in  a  dis- 
tant part  of  the  Union,  and  of  whose  conduct  we  were  apprised  by  the  faith- 
fulness of  a  ministering  brother  in  that  region  ;  and  in  disposing  of  thii 
case,  God  graciously  bestowed  on  the  whole  church,  including  the  immedi. 
•to  family  of  the  delinquent,  '  one  heart  and  one  mind. ' "    f'*" '''     ''"" 


X4^T  ILLNSSS. 


285 


unfaithfulness,  and  ask  their  forgiveness !  Oh  that  I  cou^ 
1(K^  on  their  faces  just  once  more,  —  the  dear  friends  who 
have  been  so  kind  to  me  all  these  long  years  I  •v,mm^40f 
^fjS,  "  If  the  Lord  spares  my  Ufe,  it  will  be  months  before  I 
can  preach  again  ;  but  He  who  has  the  hearts  of  all  men 
in  his  hand,  will  provide  for  my  wants.  My  dear  sons 
and  daughters  all  say  I  miMt  rest.  I  will  go  to  Newton 
first,  as  soon  as  able.  G.  and  M.  will  nurse  me ;  and  J.  is 
so  near.  Mary  can  go  with  me.  How  I  am  blessed  I  " 
^  During  these  first  days  of  his  illness,  his  mind  seemed 
pressed  with  care  about  the  country  and  the  church.  He 
asked  every  one  who  came  in  if  there  was  any  news  from  the 
army,  and  always  inquired  who  was  at  the  prayer-meeting. 
One  evening,  one  of  the  young  brethren  came  in  after  the 
meeting,  to  watch  with  him.  He  asked  by  name  if  one 
and  another  were  there  ;  when  answered  repeatedly  in  the 
negative,  he  drew  a  heavy  sigh,  and  exclaimed,  *'  Oh, 
why  will  they  not.  be  faithful  I  " 

•*'  We  were  now,"  writes  his  daughter,  "  much  encour- 
aged, the  physician  assuring  us  that  he  was  still  improving ; 
his  years  and  his  unwillingness  to  remain  quiet  seemed  the 
only  things  against  him."  -      '■   ^  -'^ 

In  the  first  week  of  his  illness,  a  young  member  of  his 
church,  who  watched  with  him,  says,  he  asked,  about  day- 
break, '*  What  o'clock  is  it  ?  "  and  being  answered, "  Five,'' 
he  repeated  those  beautiful  lines,  —  :■"■  ^  >  .  rs,.;.  u.  ^^ 

•     *  '  "  Lord,  in  the  morning  thou  shnlt  hear     "•' 

'     ':h^  n  ,'  My  voice  ascending  high  ;  '*'   j'm~  vV/'f 

■    To  thee  I  will  direct  my  prayer,     ii  „;;.•,  -%rJ,')i 
To  thee  lift  up  mine  eye." 


'  '^  .-,  !    r/'i;'        >■  ■•>*<; OJ(4 


He  then  engaged  in  prayer  most  fervently,  thanking 
God  for  the  preservation  of  life  during  the  night,  and  ask- 
ing that  this  sickness  might  not  be  unto  death,  but  for  the 


286 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


glory  of  God  and  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  purposes ; 
but  added,  "  Nevertheless,  not  my  will,  but  thine  be  done, 
O  Lord."  He  prayed  for  the  church,  that  God  would 
give  the  members  sound  judgment  rightly  to  understand 
the  truth  and  to  stand  firm  in  the  faith  once  delivered  to 
the  saints.  He  implored  God  to  be  with  the  sick,  to  com- 
fort the  sorrowing,  to  bless  the  Sunday  school,  and  to 
bring  sinners  unto  Christ.  He  plead  for  the  country,  whose 
interests  ever  lay  so  near  his  heart,  that  God  would  send 
peace,  —  peace  with  righteousness,  —  that  we  might  have  a 
proper  settlement  of  our  troubles  according  to  God's  will ; 
that  brother  might  no  longer  shed  the  blood  of  brother. 
When,  nearly  exhausted,  he  exclaimed,  "  O  Lord,  I  know 
not  where  to  stop,  but  thou  knowest  all  our  wants ;  dis- 
play thy  power  and  accomplish  thy  purposes,  for  the  sake 
of  Jesus  Christ,  thy  blessed  Son,  our  blessed  Saviour." 

During  the  same  night  he  said,  "  James,  I  have  one  re- 
quest to  make  of  you.  When  you  meet  with  any  mem- 
ber of  the  church  whom  you  believe  to  be  a  prayiny  mem- 
ber, ask  him  to  pray  that  this  sickness  may  not  be  unto 
death,  but  for  the  spiritual  good  of  myself  and  the  church ; 
that  it  may  awaken  us  all  to  more  earnestness  in  God's 
cause,  and  more  anxiety  for  impenitent  sinners.  I  should 
ike  to  live  a  little  longer,  that  I  may  be  enabled  to  wipe 
off  the  rust  that  has  been  accumulating  for  years  upon  me. 
But  it  may  be  the  Lord  is  done  with  my  unworthy  services, 
and  is  about  to  remove  me.  Perhaps  this  is  best ;  '•  His 
ways  are  not  our  ways,  nor  his  thoughts  oui  thoughts.' " 

This  young  friend  replied,  "  Your  thoughts  are  not  your 
people's  thoughts ;  they  all  think  you  have  been  very 
faithful,  and  do  not  see  how  you  could  possibly  have  been 
more  so."  Mr.  Dunbar  shook  his  head  and  smiled,  as  if 
to  say,  "  that  is  but  the  verdict  of  your  affectionate  heart." 


^LAST  ILLNESS. 


asT 


During  these  days  of  weakness  and  suffering  he  seemed 
drawn  with  peculiar  affection  toward  all  around  him.  Every 
ring  of  the  bell  excited  him,  lest  some  one  might  go  away 
disappointed  at  not  seeing  him  or  at  least  receiving  a  mes- 
sage from  his  lips.  A  neighboring  pastor,  beside  whom  he 
had  labored  long,  and  for  whom  he  had  great  respect  and 
affection,  called  one  morning  to  inquire  for  him.  Pru- 
dence forbade  the  admission  of  company  into  his  room  ; 
but  when  he  learned  that  Dr.  W.  had  been  and  gone  with- 
out his  knowing  it,  he  was  greatly  disappointed,  and  could 
not  rest  until  the  kind  friend  with  \f  hom  he  resided  offered 
to  go  to  his  house,  explain  to  him  that  very  few  were  al- 
lowed to  go  in,  but  that,  had  he  known  who  was  there 
he  should  have  insisted  on  seeing  him ;  and  also  to 
get  the  promise  of  a  visit  on  the  following  day.  Thus 
toward  all  his  friends  he  felt  more  love,  as  the  parting 
hour  drew  on.  Another  ministering  brother,  to  whom 
Mr.  Dunbar  was  most  tenderly  attached,  called  one 
day  during  his  illness,  and  manifested  such  an  af- 
fectionate interest  in  all  his  personal  matters  as  to  make 
his  visit  a  great  blessing.  When  he  left,  Mr.  Dunbar  said 
to  the  daughter  who  was  with  him,  while  tears  filled  his  eyes, 
"  My  dear,  the  Saviour  could  not  come  to  me  in  person 
to-day,  so  he  sent  dear  brother  Osgood  to  comfort  me ! " 

Again  it  was  proposed  that  all  his  children  should  be 
sent  for  ;  but  he  said,  "  Wait  till  I  am  a  little  stronger." 
When  his  youngest  daughter  returned  from  Yonkerp, 
she  was  greatly  shocked  at  his  appearance  and  at  seeing 
her  brother-in-law  lift  him  in  his  arms,  like  a  child,  from 
the  bed  to  the  sofa.  But  when  his  bed  was  aiTanged, 
and  he  replaced  in  it,  she  saw  less  change  than  when 
she  had  first  entered  his  room.  He  seemed  so  like 
himself  that  she  wondered  she  had  felt  any  alarm.     He 


288 


DUNCAN    DUNBAB. 


thanked  Mr.  W.  for  lifting  him  so  carefully,  and  speak 
ing  to  him,  but  looking  at  her,  said,  **  When  she  needs 
a  little  recreation  and  country  air,  you  always  take  her 
away  from  me  ;  but  the  moment  I  need  her  you  bring  her 
back  !  "     And  after  that,  through,  the  remaining  days  of 
his  illness,  he  would  often  reach  out  his  hand  to  clasp  hers, 
repeating  over  and  over  again,    "  O    Mary  I    O  Mary ! 
O  Mary  I ''      When   she   had   been    ministering   to   his 
comfort,  he  would  exclaim,  "  There  is  so  much  for  a  child 
to  do  for  a  father  I  "     Once,  he  said  to  her,  "  They  were 
all   as   kind  to  mi'  as  they  could  be,  before  you   came 
back  ;  but  O  Mar  ,  I  missed  mother  I  I  missed  mother ! " 
For'  a    few  days  he  remained  much  the  same,  —  his 
symptoms    not    being    considered     di^ngerous  r    but  he 
seemed  unnatural  much  of  the  time  from  the  effect  of 
opiates.      When  free  from  them,  he  talked   incessantly, 
one  subject  following  another  in  quick  succession,  some- 
times clearly,  but  again  as  if  the  mind  were  wandering. 
Places  and  persons  at  the  ends  of  the  earth  occupied  his 
thoughts,  and  every  one's  troubles  became  his  own.     He 
worried   a  great  deal  about  the  poor,  talked  of  all  the 
societies  in  which  he  was  engaged,  expressing  hope  that 
things  would  be  so  managed  that  those  for  whose  benefit 
they  were  formed  might  get  all  the  money  intended  for 
them.      The  smallest  matters  became   intensified  in  his 
mind.      One   day  he  worried  much   about   the   photo- 
graphs of  dear  friends,  —  the  late  Hon.  Joseph  Taylor 
and  wife,  —  which  Mrs.  T.  had  promised  him,  but  which 
he  had  failed  to  get  by  missing  her  when  in  Philadelphia. 
He  requested   his   daughter  to  write  at  once  for  them, 
and  to  ask  all  the  minute  particulars  of  Mr.  T.'s  sick- 
ness  and   death,  his  exact  age,  and  all  that  he  said  in 
his  last  hours.     She  left  the  room  to  write  ;  but  scarcely 


LAST  ILLNESS. 


289 


was  she  seated  in  the  study,  when  he  called  her  baclf, 
asking  with  a  grieved  look,  "  Why  did  you  leave  me 
here  an  hour  alone  ?  *'  Be  then  dropped  asleep  for  a 
moment,  and  on  waking  asked  if  the  letters  he  had  just 
dictated  had  all  been  written.  Thus  that  day  passed,  and 
not  a  moment  was  found  to  write  for  the  photographs. 
The  very  next  morning  a  letter  came,  and  he  was  greatly 
rejoiced,  on  opening  it,  to  see  the  faces  of  the  friends  on 
whom  his  mind  had  been  so  fixed.  He  called  for  his 
spectacles,  and  examined  the  pictures  over  and  over,  as 
also  the  beautiful  letter  which  accompanied  them.  And 
thus  through  his  sickness  his  smallest  desire  was  mercifully 
gratified. 

When  wakefol  and  conscious,  every  breath  was  spent 
in  audible  prayer,  exhortation,  or  recitation  of  favorite 
hymns.  The  constant  endeavor  of  those  around  him 
was  to  keep  him  quiet,  according  to  the  strict  orders  of 
his  physicians ;  and  he  would  strive  to  regard  their  wishes, 
when  reminded  of  the  importance  of  rest ;  but  in  a  mo- 
ment his  lips  would  overflow  with  the  themes  with 
which  his  soul  was  filled.  He  would  not  allow  his 
youngest  daughter  out  of  his  sight,  even  though  two 
others  were  beside  him.  On  waking  he  always  wanted 
to  take  her  hand,  once  saying,  as  he  did  so,  *^  Some- 
thing tangible,  something  tangible  I  There  surely  must 
be  something  tangible  lefl  of  earth  I " 

One  morning,  feeling  much  encouraged  about  himself, 
he  said  to  this  daughter,  "  Close  the  door  just  half 
way,  my  child."  She  did  so,  thinking  it  had  been  too 
hght  or  too  cool  for  him.  But  he  motioned  her  to  the 
bedside,  and  said,  *'  Just  kneel  here  for  a  moment  and 
thank  God  that  I  am  so  much  better."  He  wanted  all 
the   deacons   and    brethren  wlio   came    to    inquire   for 

25 


m 


DUNdAl^  DimSAB. 


liim,  to  cmk  in«6  hii  rooin  mid  pniyv  ^  t^s*  of 
coUrt^,  cotild  Mi  he  Allowed^  when  hfe  bridn  was  m 
active,  and  hia  other  pOwerti  fto  weak.  Once,  on  being 
told  who  had  called,  he  requested  that  a  list  might  be 
kept  of  all  who  did  so,  that,  when  he  recoV«r^  he  might 
not  think  atiy  one  who  httd  taken  this  troublo  had  been 
forgetftil  of  him. 

He  balled  ag^in  and  again  for  his  decJc,  and  after  each 
effort  to  write,  would  sitik  exhansted  ;  but  no  sooner  was 
it  removed,  than  he  had  it  brought  back.  When  UM  that 
he  would  soon  be  Well,  ahd  hav^  time  enough  to  attend  to 
all  these  things,  he  Said,  **  I'm  b^tt^r  now  th^n  I  6ver  ex- 
pected to  be  ;  and  perhaps  I  may  get  well,  though  fbr  su 
many  days  I've  been  lying  at  death's  door^  If  it  is  the 
Lord's  will,  I  should  like  to  liVe  to  do  two  or  thre6  things 
more  ;  but  if  not,  I  feel  that  everything  has  <;onspired  to 
make  this  the  best  time  for  me  t<  die  I  But  I  <ian«iot 
rest  till  these  little  things  &ife  attended  to,  lest  I  may  not 
recover."     ■     ''"'    ''■'  ^■■Hf!'»?>''^t.;-'('(.'  -■\---  ■■>   <•■' ■■*i' ■;■"'; «ft';-=ih;'»4' 

He  then  gave  his  datighter  Several  surtis  of  money  to  be 
given  to  friends  who  had  been  kind  in  his  sickness,  wishing 
each  to  select  some  little  keepsftke,  as  he  could  not  go  out 
to  do  it  himself.  He  seetned  disti'essed  lest  she  might  not 
make  them  understand  his  motive  80  as  to  acc^t  the  gift. 
When  he  Was  told  that  they  promised  to  do  so,  tO  q^Tato'iy 
him, he  manifested  more  pleasure  tlian  at  anjrthinor  ftvicwr^: 
his  illness.  He  then  requested  twenty  dollars,  :u^  \ul-- 
ance  of  a  little  Sum  he  had  promised  the  young  church  in 
Allentown,  Pa.,  to  be  laid  aside,  with  directions  for  send- 
ing it.  K  p;ave  his  daughter  his  life  poKcy,  regretting 
that  it  was  lot  foi-  a  larger  sum,  and  showed  all  the 
receipts,  ani?  c  x|»iained  the  business  tO  her,  saying  thiit, 
if  he  recovered,  he  should  not  rest  till  he  increased  it ; 


VIBIONB  OF  OLOBY. 


291 


adding  tenderly,  "You  Bee  your  father  thinks  of  you.'* 
Thus  he  continued  to  converse,  n  a  perfectly  rationi^, 
although  somewhat  excited  manner,  until  bq  oyttrcofi)!! 
that  he  slept  for  hours.  '■" 

All  business  matters  for  himself  or  others,  were  left  in 
perfect  ord  r  In  closing  his  own,  he  said,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  Virt'fcvi?,  **  O  Mary,  what  a  mercy  to  owe  no 
mtn  :  dcliar  I  '*  There  was  no  mourning  that  after  so 
]Si#ng  kUu  dborious  a  life  he  had  laid  up  no  treasures  for 
d'>  children ;  but  gratitude  that  he  had  been  enabled  tlo  deal 
justly  W'th  all  men.  Such  is  the  unselfish  spirit  of  the 
tnie  minister  of  Chri8t.4?,-\i:'  ....a^'  v.-^r    r^'r  •;-'■•;'   /V^^^vi)- . 

About  ifive  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  Thursday,  the 
second  week  of  his  illness,  the  air  became  very  sultry 
and  oppressive,  and  he  sank  into  a  state  of  disturbed  ex- 
haustion. His  daughter  left  him  from  twelve  at  night 
till  five  in  the  morning,  with  one  of  his  brethren  whom 
she  knew  to  be  an  excellent  nurse*  About  that  time  he 
became  excited,  begging  to  go  "  into  the  street,  on  to 
the  Atlantic  —  anywhere  I "  ^e  asked*  in  pleading  tones, 
**  Couldn't  I  go  in  a  carriage,  if  the  horses  just  walked 
down  the  avenue?"  When  reminded  that  he  was  so 
weak  that  he  sometiines  fainted  when  his  head  was  raised, 
he  said,  **  Oh*  yes,  you  told  me  that  yesterday,  and  I  forgot 
it."  It  was  but  a  moment  before  ;  but  he  had  lost  the 
power  ^^f  reckoning  tinie. 

When  his  daughter  was  fanning  him,  he  suddenly  lifted 
his  hands,  and  raising  his  eyes  upward,  with  a  beautiful 
expression,  and  as  if  he  saw  a  form  invisible  to  those 
around  him,  exclaimed,  "  Whose  child  is  it  ?  Whose 
child  just  going  to  glory  ?  "  And  with  his  tones  gradu- 
ally softening,  he  added,  '^  And  its  wings  just  touching 
the  border.'* 


■^  ^1 


292 


DUNCAN   DUNBAR. 


Ho  waa  told  tliat  he  was  dreaming,  and  that  it  was 
only  the  fan  which  had  accidentally  touched  him.  "  Oh, 
no,"  he  said,  "  Oh,  no,  I  see  it ;  its  wings  just  touched 
the  border.  Again  he  said,  as  if  looking  into  the  unseen 
world,  "  Col.  Fuller,  of  Connecticut  —  forty  years  ago." 

When  the  physicians  came  in  the  morning,  they  saw  a 
great  change,  and- feared  effusion  of  water  on  the  brain  ;  but 
hoped  it  might  be  but  the  effect  of  nervous  depression  aflier 
the  great  efforts  of  the  previous  day.  Stimulants  kept  up 
the  pulse  for  some  hours,  when  it  began  gradually  to  fail. 
He  lay  in  a  stupor  all  that  day  and  the  next  night,  only 
rousing  himself  to  take  his  nourishment  and  medicine. 
Once  during  his  last  night  he  called,  as  if  missing  the  sweet 
presence,  "  Mother  I  mother !  "  And  again  he  asked,  "  Is 
there  a  harp  here  ?  "  He  was  answered,  "  There  is  no 
harp  here."  But  it  occurred  to  his  daughter  that  he  might 
mean  the  little  hymn-book,  used  in  his  vestry,  and  that 
was  brought.  He  then  asked  her  to  read  the  hymn,  be- 
ginning :  — 

"  Servant  of  God,  well  done." 


There  were  but  three  verses  in  the  book,  and  he  asked 
for  a  copy  of  Montgomery's  poems.  This  not  being  at 
hand,  he  repeated  the  whole  hymn,  as  if  to  see  whether  he 
could  apply  it  to  himself.  After  his  death,  a  copy  of  it, 
in  full,  was  found  in  a  drawer  of  papers  which  had  not 
been  unlocked  for  months. 

When  his  children  were  by  him,  he  would  say  repeat- 
edly, "  O  my  son  I  O  my  children  I  O  my  son,  my 
son  I" 

Toward  evening,  on  Friday,  after  having  lain  long  in  a 
state  of  stupor,  he  spoke  out,  when  his  daughter  asked, 
"  What  did  you  say,  dear  father  ?  " 


FUNERAL. 


21^ 


asked 


Ue  replied,  **  I  was  saying,  *  Thou,  Lord,  knowest  me 
by  my  name. '  " 

After  this  he  said  no  more  until  just  before  he  died, 
when  the  word,  **  Ha{)py,  happy ! "  was  repeated  dis- 
tinctly. All  clouds  had  vanished  ;  and  his  soul  was  even 
then  basking  in  tlie  smile  of  Him,  whom,  not  having  seen, 
he  had  so  long  loved  and  honored. 

All  the  absent  children  of  Mr.  Dunbar  had  been  sum- 
moned to  him  by  telegraph.  Those  nearest,  reached  his 
bedside  in  time  to  see  him  pass  away ;  but  the  others 
only  came  to  hear  the  sad  words,  **  Too  late."  He  fell 
asleep  in  Jesus  on  Saturday  morning,  July  80,  1864,'  and 
ascended  to  meet  the  beloved  who  had  gone  before  him 
to  the  rest  that  remaineth  for  the  people  of  God.  Bitter 
as  was  the  anguish  of  this  parting,  it  was,  no  small  com- 
fort to  his  children,  his  church,  and  his  friends,  to  think 
of  the  exceeding  joy  with  which  he  would  greet  the  hun- 
dreds of  ransomud  souls  God  had  given  him  while  here, 
and  join  with  them  in  hallelujahs  to  Him  who  loved  them, 
and  who  gave  himself  for  them. 

During  the  three  days  preceding  his  burial,  the  house 
was  one  sc^ie  of  weeping  and  lamentation.  Until  far  into 
the  night,  members  of  the  cliurch  and  otlier  personal 
friends  gathered  around  the  beloved  form  for  a  last,  tear- 
ful look  ;  many,  particularly  the  aged,  the  afflicted,  and  the 
poor,  feeling  that  earth  could  never  fill  the  place  now 
made  void.  The  sobs  and  tears  of  the  lambs  of  his  fold, 
whom  he  so  tenderly  loved,  were  a  beautiful  tribute  to  his 
memory. 

His  funeral  was  very  largely  attended  from  the  Mc- 
Dougal  Strolit  CI  lurch  ;  Rev.  Howard  Osgood,  at  the  re- 
quest of  the  family,  taking  charge  of  the  services.  A 
just   and   beautiful   eul(»o;y  on    Mr.   Dunbar's  character| 

1  III  the  74th  vcar  of  Iiis  nge. 


2i* 


294 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


was  delivered  by  Rev.  W.  R.  Williams,  D.  D.,  than 
whom  no  city  pastor  knew  him  better,  they  having 
labored  side  by  side  for  more  than  thirty  years.  Drs. 
Somers,  Dowling,  Anderson,  and  others,  took  part  in  the 
solemn  services ;  and  many  other  ministering  brethren 
mingled  their  tears  with  those  of  the  bereaved  family  and 
church.  '       •  .-,  1  :    \-  '  .  ■■  .i  -iwv.  .■!..■  ^*.w.a,  V..-? 

When  the  remains  were  placed  beneath  the  pulpit  amid 
the  tears  and  sobs  of  the  multitude  gathered  there,  a  strange 
lady  came  forward,  and  placed  in  the  hands  of  one  of 
the  deacons  a  cross  made  of  his  own  beloved  heather,  from 
his  native  hills,  with  a  request  that  it  might  be  laid  on  the 
breast  of  the  sleeper.  Well  was  it  that  he  who  loved  both 
America  and  Scotland  with  the  heart  of  a  patriot,  should 
rest  in  the  dust  of  the  one,  with  the  flowers  of  the  other 
above  his  heart.  - 

From  the  church  the  remains  were  borne  to  Greenwood, 
and  laid  beside  hers  whom  he  had  so  sadly  missed,  in  his 
hours  of  health  and  happiness,  as  well  as  on  his  dying  bed. 
But  being  dead  he  yet  speaketh,  by  his  long,  loving,  and 
useful  life,  as  well  as  by  his  peaceful  death,  to  his  family, 
his  churcli,  and  to  the  community  in  which  he  was  so 
widely  known,  bidding  them  all  to  work  while  the  day 
lasts,  for  the  night  cometh  in  which  no  man  can  work. 

At  the  request  of  the  church.  Rev.  Dr.  Anderson 
preached  a  memorial  sermon  a  few  weeks  after  his  death, 
iiis  theme  being,  "  A  Blameless  Ministry."  He  gave  a 
sketch  of  the  life  and  labors  of  the  departed,  and  showed, 
in  a  niannor  highly  gratifying  to  those  who  loved  him,  liis 
earnestness,  ability,  and  fidelity,  from  his  birth  into  the 
family  of  God  even  to  the  end,  when  he  fell  asleep,  with 
his  armor  bright  from  service,  and  his  lamp  trimmed  and 
burning. 


TBIBUTES  FBOM  THE  POOB. 


295 


It  was  most  touching  to  witness  the  many  poor,  aged, 
and  sorrowfiil,  of  all  nations  and  colors,  who  gathered  with 
bereaved  hearts  at  his  fiineral.  Each  one  had  a  secret 
buried  in  his  heart  of  the  charity  he  had  received  from 
that  hand  now  cold  in  death ;  of  the  gentle,  encojiraging 
word  from  those  now  silent  lips.  Those  nearest  the  coffin, 
who  mourned  him  more  deeply  than  all  others,  were 
greatly  comforted  by  the  tears  of  tnese  whom  he  used  to 
call  so  tenderly,  "  our  poor  friends.'' 


ii  'K-i   V>i'i.    ^?..■"■■••'^ 


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'f.'1'ii        Vti'.'=' 


CHAPTER   XXIX, 


Latten  fton  Surly  Vr|endB — Tcibate  of  ReT.  Oot«riiu  Wlntfov,  D.  D.  —  of  Bar  Row- 
•rd  Osgood  —  Mr.  W.  H.  S.  J.  —  I>«M(m  Grlfflth. 

*NE  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  earliest  friends  in  America 

writes  to  the  person  who  had  informed  her  of  his 

death :  — 

"  I  received  your  letter  last  evening,  and  was 

not  a  little  shocked  at  the  intelligence  it  contained. 

Dear  "Sir.  Dunbar !     /«  it  true  that  I  shall  never 
meet  his   kind,  genial   hand-grasp  again?  —  never  again 
look  in  his  benevolent  &ce  ?     Alas !  I  feel  that  I  have 
sustained  a  personal  bereavement  in  his  death.     He  was 
one   of  the  very  few  old  friends  left  me,  and   now  he 
is  gone !     Gone  to  his  unspeakable  reward,  I  doubt  not. 
But  what  a  loss  to  his  church,  to  the  community  in  which 
his  influence  was  felt  only  for  good,  to  his  circle  of  bosom 
friends,  and  last  and  most  of  all,  to  his  sorrowing  chil- 
dren I         .......         . 

"  Forty-two  years  have  I  known  and  loved  our  venera- 
ble friend ;  and  in  all  that  time  I  have  felt  no  abatement 
of  my  interest  in  him,  nor  seen  any  inconsistency  on  his 
part  to  diminish  my  respect  and  esteem.  It  is  no  small 
comfort  to  me  now,  that  I  aided  in  granting  him  the  de- 
sire of  his  heart,  —  to  revisit  his  native  land  last  year.  I 
recollect  saying  to  him  in  my  letter  on  that  subject,  that 
probably,  at  his  time  of  life,  he  could  hardly  hope  to  re- 
peat the  visit,  and  urged  that  as  a  reason  why  he  should 

(296  k 


LETTER  OP  SYMPATHY. 


297 


allow  himself  ample  time.  Little  did  I  think  how  near 
his  journey's  end  he  was  I  I  had  always  imagined  he 
would  live  to  a  very  advanced  age ;  but  he  is  through 
with  his  toils,  and  has  already,  I  trust,  received  the  wel 
come,  *  Well  done,  good  and  faithftJ  servant,  enter  thou 
into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord.' 

"  How  your  mother  and  E.  will  miss  him.  The  latter 
felt  for  him  almost  the  affection  of  a  child.  As  to  my 
own  feelings,  I  can  hardly  analyze  them  at  present.  I 
shall  feel  more  alone  in  the  world  than  ever  before.  Your 
mother  is  now  all  that  is  left  me  of  *  auld  lang  syne ; ' 
and  I  tremble  when  I  think  by  what  a  frail  tenure  that 
last  link  remains  unbroken.         .         .        .        N.  S." 

Upon  hearing  of  his  death,  Rev.  Dr.  Kennard  wrote  to 
one  of  the  family  :  "  For  thirty-three  years,  he  was  my 
faithful,  sympathizing  friend  and  adviser.  I  know  not  the 
man  on  earth  I  loved  more  than  I  did  your  honored  fa- 
ther ;  and  when  he  fell  by  the  death-shafl,  I  was  deeply 
affected.  When  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  in  our 
May  meetings,  we  little  thought  how  short  his  time  WoS. 
I  deeply  sympathize  with  you  all  in  your  affliction  in 
the  loss  of  a  loving  parent.  But  your  father's  God  is 
also  your  God,  and  will  be  your  guide  even  unto  death.'*  , 

Rev.  Octavius  Winslow,  D.  D.,  of  Bath,  Eng.,  was  a 
most  valued  and  beloved  friend  of  Mr.  Dunbar.  For 
years  they  kept  up  a  correspondence,  beautiftil  both  for  its 
spirituality  and  its  affection,  under  the  significant  names 
of  "  David  "  and  "  Jonathan." 

Dr.  Winslow  writes  :  "  Mr.  Dunbar's  history  in  its 
earlier  and  more  interesting  incidents  was  strangely 
blended  with  the  family  recollections  of  the  writer." 
(Here  follows  a  full  account  of  the  wreck  of  the  **  Hali- 


m 


DyN<)AN   DUNQAS. 


&x  Packet,"  wh^n  Mr.  Punbar  became  the  guest  of  Dr. 
Winslow's  honored  grt^ndmother,  Mrs.  Grant,  on  one  of 
the  Bermudas.) 

'*  It  was  no  inhospitable  or  unchristianized  shore  to 
which  the  famished  missionaries  were  thus  driven.  White- 
field,  the  great  apostle  of  his  age,  had  years  before  sought 
repose  and  health  amid  its  citron  groves  and  balmy 
breezes.  The  traces  of  his  »ojoum  lived  still  in  the  pre- 
cious fruit  of  souUt  converted  to  God  through  his  labors. 
A  Christian  church  had  been  gathered,  which,  though 
small  and  feeble,  was  holding  up  the  lamp  of  God's  truth 
fimid  much  spiritual  darknesa  and  religious  formalism. 
Their  minister,  being  about  to  dedicate  a  new  chapel, 
longed  and  prayed  for  the  sympathy  and  aid  of  his  breth- 
ren in  the  ministry.  God  heard  his  prayers  and  guided 
to  them  the  distressed  vessel  bearing  these  missionaries 
just  as  their  sanctuary  was  ready  for  the  solemn  service 
of  dedication.  God,  who  comforteth  them  that  are  cast 
down,  cheered  the  heart  of  his  servant  by  the  coming  of 
Mr.  Dunbar  and  his  associates.  Mr.  Dunbar  preached 
one  of  the  dedication  sermons  from  Gen.  xxv.  19. 

"  Such,  briefly,  was  the  event,  so  signally  exhibiting  the 
finger  of  God,  from  which  is  dated  the  commencement 
of  an  intimacy  between  the  beloved  subject  of  this  memoir 
and  some  dear  to  me,  who  now  blend  their  spirits  with  his 
before  the  throne  of  God  and  the  Lamb,  in  the  perfect  and 
eternal  fellowship  of  heaven. 

"  The  pen  of  a  long-existing  and  warm  friendship  at- 
tempting the  portrait  of  such  a  devoted  servant  of  Christ 
as  Mr.  Dunbar,  is,  necessarily,  in  danger  of  exaggeration. 
The  original  appears  to  the  eye  of  the  admiring  artist  so 
beautiful  and  faultless,  that,  whatever  defects  there  may 
be  in  the  statue  which  the  chisel  moulds,  the  ideal  is  the 


LBtnsft  6p  StM^AtHY. 


299 


only  and  prevailing  conception  of  the  sculptoi**s  mind. 
Mr.  Dunbar  was  no  ordinary  man.  His  natural  charac- 
ter was  itself  a  study,  composed  of  some  of  the  noblest 
elements,  and  adomed  with  some  of  the  rarest  traits,  of 
humanity.  Even  apart  from  divine  grace,  his  natural  oiv 
ganization  would  be  considered  by  many,  one  of  the  most 
faultless  of  the  species.  He  was  princely  great.  Possess^ 
ing  one  of  the  kindest  hearts,  combined  with  on«  of  the 
most  generous  and  high-minded  souls,  sweetened  with  a 
disposition  extremely  amiable  dlid  winning,  it  was  *  the 
daily  beauty  of  his  life  *  to  increase  the  happiness  and  pro- 
mote the  well'-being,  temporal  and  spiritual,  of  all  who 
Were  privileged  to  participate  in  hk  fHraidship  and  appeal 
to  his  sympathy. 

"  In  sketching  the  Christian  charsscter  of  one  possessing 
such  native  loveliness,  it  is  often  as  difficult  to  distinguish 
nature  ^om  grace,  as  to  define  where  the  ray^  of  the  rain^ 
bow  commence  or  terminate.  But  Mr.  Dunbar's  relig- 
ious character  was  an  exception  to  this  rule.  The  grace 
of  God  in  him  was  so  strongly  marked,  his  Ohristaanity 
was  so  fiilly  developed,  his  holy  and  consistent  life  stood 
out  in  such  bold  relief,  that,^  lovely  as  he  was  by  nature, 
that  loveliness  was  eclipsed  by  the  transcendent  beauty  of 
hottneSs  which  clad  and  adomed  him.  The  Holy  Spkrit 
moved  upon  him  in  early  life.  He  was  brought  to  know 
the  plague  of  his  own  heart,  to  feel  that  he  was  a  sinner, 
and  to  see  that  the  amiable  instincts  of  nature  were  not 
liolinetM ;  that  the  works  of  righteousness,  which  his  own 
obedience  wrought,  were,  in  the  sight  of  the  holy  and 
heart-searching  God,  but  as  *  splendid  sins.'  Discovering 
the  moral  leprosy,  failing  of  peace  with  God  by  the  deeds  of 
the  law,  and  with  a  guiltrburdmied  conscience  and  a  heart 
bowed  with  sorrow,  the  same  divine  Spirit  who  convinced 


800 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


him  of  sin  discovered  to  him  the  remedy,  and  led  him  to 
*  Christ,  the  end  of  the  law  for  righteousness  to  every  one 
that  believeth.'  In  faith  receiving  Christ,  he  passed  from 
the  gloomy  region  of  guilt,  into  the  meridian  sunshine  of 
God's  forgiving  love.  Henceforth,  until  his  sun  went 
down,  cloudless  and  glorious,  his  path  was  that  of  the  just, 
shining  more  and  more  until  lost  in  perfect  and  eternal 
day.  This  was  the  foundation  of  his  remarkable  effi- 
ciency and  usefulness  as  a  preacher,  and  of  his  high 
moral  position  in  the  Christian  church  as  a  man  of  God. 
Apart  from  experimental  religion,  a  renewed  mind,  a 
Christ-adoring  soul,  a  loving  heart  and  a  holy  life,  the  min- 
isterial vocation,  the  most  exalted  and  useful,  as  the  most 
solemn  and  appalling  with  which  mortal  can  be  invested, 
becomes  rather  a  badge  of  shame  than  the  insignia  of 
honor;  a  calamity,  rather  than  a  blessing;  a  weight, 
sinking  its  blinded  and  unhappy  possessor  into  the  deepest 
woe,  rather  than  pinions  of  light  and  love  floating  him  to 
the  highest  pinnacle  of  glory  and  bliss. 

"  The  spirituaUty  of  Mr.  Dunbar  was  above  the  ordinary 
standard.  He  was  remarkably  a  man  of  prayer.  When 
he  closed  the  sacred  Book,  and  turned  from  man  to  ad- 
dress himself  to  God,  his  real  forte  and  true  power  were 
conspicuous.  It  i\ras  then  that  he  appeared  in  his  high- 
est glory. 

"  His  varied  approaches  at  the  Throne  of  Grace,  —  in  the 
pulpit,  at  the  church  meetings,  at  the  administration  of 
baptism,  presiding  at  the  Lord's  supper,  at  the  ordination ; 
above  and  beyond  all,  in  the  season  of  affliction,  at  the 
bed  of  sickness,  at  the  couch  of  languor,  in  the  house  of 
mourning,  —  will  long  be  precious  and  fragrant  in  the 
memories  of  thousands  who  will  hear  that  fervent  voice 
pouring  forth  the  solemn  utterance  of  a  loving,  sympa- 


''<y^>-^.~'-'-:sr'. 


LETTER  OP  SYMPATHY. 


801 


thizing  heart  no  more.  Were  we  to  search  for  the  hidden 
spring  of  his  personal  piety,  ministerial  power,  consistent 
walk,  and  his  honored  reputation  as  a  pastor  and  Chris- 
tian, we  should  perhaps  find  it  in  his  prevailing  power 
with  God  in  prayer. 

"  It  were  trite  to  remark  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  ministry,  that 
it  was  decidedly  evangelical.  And  yet  in  a  day  when 
many  assume  the  title  but  as  the  badge  of  a  party,  adopting 
and  wearing  it  apart  from  that  high  scriptural  order  of 
ministerial  excellence  which  the  term  implies,  it  is  of  the 
utmost  importance  that,  in  sketching  the  character  of  Mr. 
Dunbar,  this  essential  and  all-commanding  feature  should 
assume  its  distinct  and  proper  position  in  our  portrait.  As 
a  preacher,  he  was  preeminently  evangelical.  The  gospel 
trumpet,  as  blown  by  him,  gave  forth  no  vague,  uncertain 
sound.  '^  Christ  crucified "  was  the  grand  theme  of  his 
ministry,  the  central  object,  around  which  were  draped  in 
graceftil  festoons  all  the  great  fundamental  doctrines,  pre- 
cepts, and  promises  of  the  gospel.  The  doctrines  of  grace 
were  precious  to  his  heart,  and  formed  the  staple  of  his 
ministry,  imparting  a  living  power  to  his  preaching  and  to 
his  life.  I  will  not  say  that  he  preached  the  doctrines  of 
Calvin  or  of  Paul,  but  emphatically  the  doctrines  of  Christ ; 
truths  revealed  by  Christ,  taught  by  Christ,  of  which  Christ 
was  the  author,  substance,  the  sweetness,  and  the  glory. 
Those  divine  truths  which  abase  the  sinner  and  which  exalt 
the  Saviour,  wliich  promote  the  sanctity  and  comfort  of 
the  saints,  and  build  up  the  church  of  God,  were  faithfully 
and  effectually  preached  and  holily  exemplified,  and  formed 
the  beautiful  mosaic  in  the  ministry  and  life  of  our  de- 
parted friend. 

"  I  cannot  conclude  this  imperfect  sketch  without  a  refer- 
ence to  a  marked  feature  of  Mr.  Dunbar's  personal  Chris- 

20 


802 


.]|I>U)iCAN  DUNBAB. 


tianity,  —  his  Christian  catholicity.  No  man  ever  held  his 
distinctive  principles  with  firmer  tenacity  or  more  uncom- 
promising loyalty  to  the  Lord  Jesas  Christ,  and  yet  with 
greater  breadth  of  Christian  tolerance  i^d  love  than  did 
my  beloved  finend. 

^  **  Conscious  of  human  infirmities  while  in  the  body,  — 
and  to  no»eye  were  they  more' visiUe  than  hi«t  "Own,— he 
is  nowBuingling  with  th6>  spirits  of  just  men  made  petfeot ; ' 
andy  washed  from  every  sin  in  the  atoning  bloody  he  is  now, 

*  without  a  fault/  before  the  throne  of  God  and  of  the  Itamb. 
V^ry  pleasant  hast  thou  been  to-  me,'  my  brothpt  I "     >     ^ 

*  VSev.  HoWara  bsgocd,  .  sJx  feiei«t  ana  k^igliborlhg 
pastor  in  New  York,  writes  of  Mr.  Dunbar :  — 

*i>  **]ii  a  time  of  deep  tidal  Xjrod  sent  to  me  his  beloii«d 
servant,  Rev.  Duncan  Dunbar, 'to  Tefresh  me  wifth  (IMs 
sympathy,  support  me  with  hi»  counsel,  and  by  hi8i«$aija- 
pleto  confirm  me  in  Uie  truth.  •  He  had  long  foe«i.  ^t/nvor^ 
sant  with  wounded  hearts,  and  had  learned  from  th«>*  .OAvef 
Physician  how  to  treats  them,  •-^  an  .-art*/ known  rto^few. 
Himself  tried  by  long  experience  and  comforted  of  God,  he 
was -able,  by  revealing^  thatt^Eperience^  to.  comfort  rthqse 
who  were  <;ast  down^  He  hneW'  what  it ;  vas  to  have  the 
sufierings  of  Christ  abound  in  him,  and  he  had  received 
in  himself  the  priceless  rewaid  of  such  service,  -—  the  over- 
flowing consolation  of  Christy  and  the  delight  oi  imparting 
that  consolation  to  others.   • 

"  This  may  explain  the  seeming  inconsistency  between 
his  experi^ice  and  his  appeaj*an(%.  No  one  would  ever 
suppose,  firom  any  outward  sign,  that  he  had  been  trained 
by  bearing  heavy  crosses  ;  yet,  were  the  burdens  and  trials 
he  had  borne  summed  up,  men  who  do  not  know  the 
secret  of  the  Lord  would  be  astonished  that  he  ever  smiled. 


LETTEBS  FBOM  FBIENDS. 


808 


Cheer  and  joy  and  happiness  lieained  from  every  feature 
His  presence  was  a  rebuke  to  gloom.  His  tife-was  an 
epistle  of  God  against  murmunng*.  A  childlike,  harmless 
playfulness  of  spirit  imparted  a  genial  warmth  tor  every 
word. 

"  He  loved  the  gospel.  It  was  every-day  glad  tidings 
to  him ;  for,  in  his  sight,  Duncan  Dunbar  waa  the  greatest 
miraclo  of  God's  grace.  Every  day  he  found  something 
new  in  it  for  his  soul's  nourishment.  To  him  the  gospel 
narratives  were  not  merely  histories  of  Christ's  walking 
and  talking  and  defding  graciously  with  men ;  but  they 
were  also  prophecies  and  piromises,  sealed  with  the  blood 
of  the  Lamb,  —  of  a  similar,  daily,  pers(Mial  {^senOe  with 
his  people  in  all  ages.  They  were  living  oracles ,  —  not 
merely  the  basis  of  a  logical  system  of  divinity,  bat  the 
fountain  of  the  power  of  endless  life.  While  he  held  with 
great  distinctness  and  firmneso  that  system  of  doctrine 
known  as  Calvinistic,  because  the  Bible  taught  it  to  him, 
and  he  most  truly  believed  it,  yet  he' did  not  pretend  to 
bound  God's  revelation  by  man's  logic.  His  faith  was 
far  higher  and  deeper  than  his  logic.  The  truth  first  en- 
tered his  heart  and  so  affected  his  intellect.  His  faith  led 
and  directed  his  train  of  reasoning.  -  ,^   : 

"  His  whole  intercourse  with  his  fnends  gave  proof  of 
this  abiding  and  ever-deepening  love  for  Christ  and  his  gos- 
pel. He  was  deeply  learned  in  the  school  of  personal  ex- 
perience with  Christ.  :  *  He  wakened  his  ear  to  hear  as 
the  learned,'  and  He  gave  him  *  the  tongue  of  the  learned 
to  know  how  to  speak  a  word  in  season  to  him  that  is 
weary.'  His  learning  was  profitable  both  for  this  life  and 
for  that  which  is  to  come. 

"  Under  the  cross,  Jesus  had  taught  him  to  discern  the 
devices  of  the  natural  heart,  deceitful  above  all  things  and 


^ 


304 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR.  ^-* 


incnraible.  He  knew  it  as  tlie  skilfiiT  pilot  Knows  tne 
reefs  and  eddies  and  uncertain  currents  ojp  some  dangerous 
channel.  He  knew  it  for  himself  and  for  others  also.  En- 
deared as  he  was  to  those  who  heard  him  preach  the  Savr 
iour  he  loved,  he  became  knit  in  indissoluble  bonds  to 
those  to  whom  he  ministered.  He  was  a  pastor  for  the 
lieart.  Those  who  drew  near  to  him  could  not  fail  to  see 
and  feel  that,  while  his  deepest  affections  were  given  to 
Christ,  no  human  sorrow  was  there  in  which  he  did  not 
sympathize,  no  human  joy  which  did  not  awaken  a  re- 
sponsive chord  in  his  heart.  None  gave  their  hearts  more 
unreservedly  to  Mr.  Dunbar  than  little  children  ;  for  chil- 
dr^  often  discern  the  heart  with  clearer  vision  than  those 
who  are  older. 

"  He  was  strong  in  those  traits  which  endear  a  man  to 
his  brother ;  his  sympathy  was  cordial,  earnest,  active  ;  it 
was  proved  by  actions  as  well  as  by  words.  No  self-denial 
was  too  great  for  him  to  bear,  if  he  could  alleviate  a  woe, 
or  add  to  another's  joy.  His  affections  clasped  tightly 
around  his  friends  ;  he  had  no  ear  for  the  whisperings  of 
suspicion.  Faithful  and  true,  his  friends  always  knew 
where  to  find  him.  His  word  was  his  bond,  no  matter 
how  much  unexpected  trouble  it  brought  him  to  fulfil  it. 
It  could  be  relied  on  to  the  last  jot  and  tittle.  ^  .p?  ; 
"Generosity  was  both  a  necessity  and  a  principle  with 
him.  The  love  of  Christ,  which  filled  his  heart  to  over- 
flowing, made  its  way  to  the  world  in  a  channel  of  gener- 
osity. The  last  few  dollars  in  his  pocket  were  given  as 
cheerfully,  and  pressed  as  eagerly  upon  the  poor,  as  if  he 
had  a  balance  of  a  hundred  thousand  in  the  bank." 

"The  following  letter  to  one  of  the  family,  from  a  gentle- 
man of  piety  and  culture  in  the  Episcopal  Church,  shows 


LETTERS  FROM  FRIBNDS. 


805 


how  Mr.  Dunbar  was  esteemed  aB  a  man  and  a  minbtef 
outside  of  his  own  denomination :  —  -  *  "i-mtvm-Mmm 
vi/*  I  cannot  refrain  from  expressing  to  you  the  deep  feel- 
ings I  have  experienced  in  learning  of  the  death  of  my 
greatly  este^piod  friend,  the  Bev.  Mr.  Dunbar.  My  rec- 
ollection of  hiyn  i^  associated  with  many  of  my  earliest  and 
tenderest  memories;  and  though  I  have  been  privileged 
to  meet  him  only  at  long  intervals,  there  is  no  Christian 
minister  I  have  ever  known  who  so  spontaneously  com- 
manded  my  highest  respect  for  his  faithful  standard  of  du- 
ty, and  the  hearty  earnestness  of  his  devotion  to  its  every 
requirement.  I  have  loved  to  recur  to  him  as  beautiiully 
illustrating,  in  his  entireness  of  sympathy  with  all  his  peo- 
ple, my  ideal  of  a  true,  earnest,  and  devoted  minister  of 
Jesus  Christ.  My  earnest  sympathies  go  out  for  those 
who  have  known  him  in  the  tender  relations  of  home. 
It  is  a  rare  blessing  to  have  had  the  guidance  and  fellow- 
ship of  such  a  parent,  and  I  can  imagine  the  deep  shadow 
that  the  removal  of  such  a  genial,  cheerful,  hopeful  spirit, 
will  cast  on  those  who  knew  him  best  in  these  relations. 

"  To  those  of  my  own  relatives,  to  whom  for  years  he  has 
been  at  once  a  pastor,  a  cherished  fneud,  and  an  almost 
daily  counsellor,  the  blow  is  indeed  one  the  severity  of 
which  time  will  but  slightly  alleviate.  But  for  himself,  how 
much  cause  for  gratitude  there  was  in  all  the  circumstances 
of  his  life  I  Was  he  not  blessed  more  than  usually  in  his 
Christian  and  social  relations,  in  his  family,  in  the  dura- 
tion as  well  as  in  the  active  and  effective  usefulness  of  his 
life,  and  the  cherished  memory  he  bears  to  all  who  ever 
knew  him?  r 


W,  H.  S.  J. 


>» 


2A* 


V:  .-;■■ 


:r  ■'^'Sr^n', ,  iiT; '^f -.?  ?:  5'; ;%.' ' '# 


806 


DUNCAN   DUNBAB. 


'■    A  valued  friend  in  the  Budd  Street  Church,  Philadel- 
phia, writes  : —  ,,^      ....       ..         :      I.    ,L..S, 

"  The  Lord  abundantly  owned  and  blessed  the  truths 
preached  in  such  kindness  and  love  by  our  dear,  departed 
and  beloved  pastor.  The  precious  seed  he  sowed  was  like 
bread  cast  upon  the  waters,  to  be  found  after  many  days. 
Very  many,  who  have  since  then  related  the  dealings  of  God 
with  their  souls  in  their  first  awakenings,  say  that  they 
were  first  convinced  that  they  were  sinners  and  felt  tlieir 
need  of  a  Saviour,  while  sitting  mider  Mr.  Dunbar's  min- 
istry. He  did,  indeed,  preach  the  truth  in  sincerity  and 
simplicity,  and  God  owned  and  blessed  his  work. 

"  Never  shall  I  forget  the  deep  sorrow  we  felt  when 
our  faithful  friend  and  pastor  resigned  his  charge  of  our 
church.  We  bless  the  Lord  that  ever  we  were  privileged 
to  become  acquainted  with  him,  and  that  he  inclined  his 
heart  towards  us,  and  gave  us  a  place  in  his  affections." 

The  following  letter  from  Trenton,  New  Jersey,  will 
show  the  esteem  in  which  Mr.  Dunbar  was  held  by  the 
church  over  which  he  presided  for  a  short  time  there. 

**  His  stay  with  us,  though  short,  is  remembered  by  the 
church  as  comprising  a  most  interesting  portion  of  her  his- 
tory.  Being  ripe  in  years  and  experience,  and  withal  a 
man  full  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and  good  works,  the  relation- 
sliip  of  near  kindred  manifested  itself  between  him  and 
the  elder  brethren.  There  was  great  similarity  of  views 
lietween  them,  and  they  reposed  implicit  confidence  in  his 
judgment  in  matters  of  church  polity  and  other  subjects 
rt'luting  to  the  progress  of  the  Redeemer's  kingdom. 
This  affinity  was  never  more  apparent  tlian  in  Mr.  Dun- 
bar's social  intercourse  with  the  class  alluded  to,  most  of 
whom  have  now  joined  company  with  him  in  the  better 
land.     Our  church  has  been  blessed  with  other  good  pas- 


LETT£BS  FROM  FRIENDS. 


807 


j> 


tors,  younger  in  years,  and  on  this  account  it  may  truly  be 
said  that  pone  of  them  dunng  the  same  length  of  time 
ever  had  so  great  an  influence.  ' ' 

"  With  the  younger  portion  of  the  church,  the  feeling 
towards  Mr.  Dunbar  was  of  a  different  character.  Thev 
did  not  consider  themselves  his  immediate  associates,  as  did 
the  older  members  of  the  family.  They  regarded  him  as 
a  father,  and  cherished  an  earnest  desire  to  follow  whither 
he  might  lead  the  way  ;  and  from  trustworthy  data  in  our 
possession,  that  following  ever  was  to  know  the  Lord.  It 
b  a  most  gratifying  fact,  that  not  one  of  this  class  whom 
it  was  his  privilege  to  lead  to  the  Saviour,  has  become 
weary  of  the  journey,  or  turned  from  God,  —  a  convincing 
proof  of  the  thoroughness  of  his  teaching,  and  the  great 
caution  he  displayed  in  encouraging  applicants  for  admis- 
sion to  the  church.  He  aimed  to  have  all  such  thoroughly 
indoctrinated  in  the  great  truths  and  principles  which  form 
the  basis  of  Christian  belief  and  character. 

"  But  perhaps  with  none  were  these  feelings  of  .ove 
and  attachment  stronger  than  with  the  Sunday-school 
children  ;  and  groups  of  them  gathering  around  the  min- 
ister was  no  uncommon  sight.  ^  On  one  such  occasion, 
I  distinctly  remember,  as  he  stood  by  the  stove  in  our 
quaint  old  lecture-room,  with  many  a  bright  eye."  throw- 
ing back  the  reflection  of  his  cheerful,  animated  face,  Mr. 
Dttnbar,  in  giving  them  one  of  his  pleasant  greetings,  sud- 
denly straightened  hiirtself  up,  and,  with  great  ardor, 
preached  them  a  pithy  discourse  on  church  extension,  say- 
ing, '  I  tell  you,  girls  and  boys,  the  end  of  this  old  build- 
ing has  got  to  bui^t  out,  or  a  new  one  push  it  out  of  the 
way  altogether.*  Sure  enough,  it  was  but  a  little  while 
and  the  '  ])Uslnng-out-of-the-way  '  process  was  enacted ; 
and  now,  our  beautiful  lecture  and  Sunday-school  roonig 


508 


DUNCAN  DUNBAR. 


occupy  the  site,  and  to  this  day  the  young  folks  (children 
at  that  time)  make  pleasant  allusions  to  Mr.  Dunbar's  ser- 
mon by  the  old  stove. 

"  During  Brother  Dunbar's  sojourn  with  us,  we  had  none 
of  those  large  in-gatherings  of  souls  with  which,  at  times, 
God  deigns  to  refresh  his  church ;  but  we  had  the  Word 
preached  with  power  and  in  demonstration  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  The  church  grew  in  grace  and  in  the  knowledge  of 
our  blessed  Saviour ;  the  understanding  of  the  people  was 
enlightened,  and  their  judgment  convinced.  The  seed  he 
sowed  was  well  selected  and  good ;  and,  divining,  perhaps, 
that  the  great  Husbandman  might  not  very  long  permit 
him  to  hold  the  sower's  commission  in  this  part  of  the  great 
field,  he  would,  at  times,  with  great  pathos  and  impressive- 
ness,  call  attention  to  the  sad  fact  that  sinners  seemed  to 
be  tardy  in  accepting  of  the  Crucified,  assigning  as  a  reason, 
that,  perhaps,  he  was  not  faithful  enough  to  the  charge 
committed  to  his  hands.  And  then,  under  the  influence 
of  considerable  emotion,  as  though  looking  back  over  the 
way  in  which  God  had  brought  him  and  gathering 
encouragement  from  the  retrospect,  he  would  give  his 
audience  the  benefit  of  Ijis  thoughts,  the  burden  of  which 
seems  to  be  this :  that  although  he  might  not  be  reaper, 
some  servant  of  God  would.  The  closing  up  of  the  last 
sermon  that  he  ever  preached  in  the  pulpit  of  the  Baptist 

Church  of  T was  in  these  words  (and  spoken,  too, 

w^ith  deep  emotion)  :  *  Finally,  dear  brethren  and  sisters, 
I  rejoice  that  the  time  is  soon  coming,  when  both  sower 
and  reaper  shall  meet  together,  in  the  kingdom  of  God.' 

"  How  prophetically  significant  and  true  I  Duncan 
Dunbar  and  Lewis  Smith  are  now  at  home  in  the  kingdom 
of  God.  The  sower  and  the  reaper  have  met,  and  are  rest- 
ing from  their  labora.     During  the  short  period  he  was 


"^TrtUi3!^>W,V''v'"'^'''^f"-*^*^'t»^''r' 


EEViBW.     " 


809 


our  pastor,  be  buried  with  Gbrist  in  baptism  thirteen 
joyful  converts,  and  welcomed  to  the  church  by  letter, 
from  other  churches,  fifteen. 

"  I  should  fail  to  do  justice  to  the  sainted  man,  if  1  omitted 
to  mention  his  visitation  of  the  flock.  It  was,  for  the  most 
part,  regular  and  systematic  ;  and  not  to  see  his  tamiliar 
face,  at  specified  times,  was  a  disappointment.  The  kind- 
ness of  heart  and  the  sympathetic  tenderness  evinced  on 
such  occasions  won  for  him  among  us  the  appellation  of 
the  *  Good  Shepherd ; '  and  those  of  his  flock  who  sur- 
vive him  accord  to  him  the  original  distinction,  of  having 
*  no  equal,  in  this  respect,  in  all  of  the  list  of  good  pastors 
that  we,  as  a  church,  have  been  favored  with.'  " 


In  reviewing  the  life  of  this  good  minister  of  Jesus 
Christ,  none  can  fail  to  acknowledge  his  unselfish  devo- 
tion to  the  interests,  temporal  and  spiritual,  of  his  fel- 
low-creatures. Much  of  this  was,  no  doubt,  the  result 
of  natural  generosity  and  sympathy ;  when  these  were 
sanctified  to  God  they  became  a  great  power,  constrain- 
ing him  to  labor  in  season,  and  out  of  season,  for  fnend 
and  foe. 

Those  who  loved  Mr.  Dunbar  most,  —  who  sat  at  his 
table,  and  dwelt  beneath  his  roof,  —  do  no^-  regard  him 
faultless.  Some  prudent  persons  pronounced  him  too  im- 
pulsive in  his  sympathies,  and  prodigal  in  his  charities. 
Others  considered  him  stern  in  his  views  of  church  disci- 
pline, and  unduly  tenacious  of  the  doctrines  of  grace,  and 
of  the  ordinances  and  polity  of  his  church.  To  his  views 
of  truth  and  convictions  of  duty  he  held  fast,  and  for  them 
he  plead  with  a  persistency  peculiar  to  his  nation,  and  not 
always  agreeable  to  those  who  differed  from  him.  These 
were  what  would  have  been  called  by  some,  Mr.  Dunbar'* 


810 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


fraildeer;  but  all' must  admit  tfakt  if  not  virtues  they  surely 
*'leftiied  to  virtue's  side."  '  >^  v*?^  ^'  '^  ^  <  **^^  >m  m-...:^ 

And  even  had  there  been  very  marked  imperfections  in 
the  Christian  character  we  have  striven  to  delineate,  it 
would  avail  little  to  record  them  in  these  pages.  Oar  ob- 
ject has  been  to  present  traits  worthy  of  emulation  and  to 
glorify  God's  grace,  by  showing  how  much  can  be  accom- 
plished by  one  life  consecrated  to  his  service. 

The  Christian's  life,  viewed  in  its  results,  never  ends ; 
*'  his  works  do  follow  him ; "  like  good  seed  yielding  fruit 
as  the  years  roll  on  until  the  full  harvest  shall  be  gathered 
in  on  high.  Mr.  Dunbar's  own  words,  in  regard  to  a 
sainted  friend,  "  His  prayers  are  all  ended,  but  not  all  an- 
swered," were  prophetic  of  his  own.  When  nature  was 
sinking,  and  those  whose  love  would  fain  have  detained 
him  here,  plead  with  him  to  remain  calm  and  try  to 
rest,  his  soul  was  pressed  with  anguish  for  the  impenitent. 
When  the  hand  that  never  shrunk  from  labor  was  palsied 
in  death,  he  dictated  a  letter  to  a  young  and  feeble  church, 
and  enclosed  therein  a  gift,  •—  almost  from  the  borders  of 
heaven.  It  was  forwarded  after 'his  burial,  and  received 
by  that  people  as  a  voice  from  the  eternal  world.  From 
his  death-bed,  as  well  as  from  his  pulpit,  he  had  preached 
Christ ;  and  his  work  of  love  was  rewarded.  This  last 
germon  was  the  means  of  salvation  to  several  souls,  and 
thus  was  his  heart's  desire  granted,  **  to  die  with  his  har- 
ness on."  ^   ,  .     I 

Mr.  Dunbar  lefl  six  daughters,  a  son,  and  a  nephew,  — 
who  was  as  one  of  his  children,  —  twenty-three  grand- 
children, and  four  great-grandchildren.  Three  of  his 
sons-in-law  and  a  grandson  (in-law,)  are  toiling  in  the 
profession  he  loved  and  honored,  and  two  grandsons  are 
just  putting  on  their  armor  for  the  same  glorious  work. 


BETIEW. 


8U 


Will  not  those  who  loved  this  dear,  departed  servant  of 
God  pray  that  his  mantle  may  rest  upon  these,  and  that 
their's  may  also  be  acknowledged  in  the  final  day  as  *'  an 
earnest  ministry.'* 


ICVJ   I'  »»■      i»-».  t    f'<  •(•!* 


;,.»•    4.V       -    ■•"•V* 


\..;;.«:;'{'^V    ..      . 


..V.  «,   ^■.. 


r         .  Jr 


f. 


-r,  ,      j'»'  o 


»»,4   ..1    >'tl  . 


i  .♦.      ,*'  »       ,      «\       «.  t-.\i 


•  .       !•         »  V 


812 


DUNCAN  DUNBAB. 


ViAi'iji^-jf.-    '•iiT'^t''' 


V  .A  '^ 


^-T: 


-,    —-*•«.!* 


-.,f 


"  Servant  of  God,  well  done  1 
Rest  from  thy  loved  employ ; 
The  battle  fought,  the'vict'ry  won,—* 
Enter  thy  Master's  joy. 

"  The  voice  at  midnight  came ; 
He  started  np  to  hear ; 
A  mortal  arrow  pierced  his  frame,— 
He  fell,  bat  felt  no  fear. 

''At  midnight  came  the  cry, 
'  To.meet  thy  Qoi  prepare  I ' 
He  woke,  and  caught  his  Captain's  eye; 
Then,  strong  in  faith  and  prayer, 

"  His  spirit,  with  a  bound. 

Left  its  encumb'ring  clay ;  — 
His  tent;  at  sunrise  on  the  ground, 
A  darkened  ruin  lay. 

"  The  pains  of  death  are  past ; 
Labor  and  sorrow  cease ; 
And  life's  long  warfare  closed  at  last, 
His  soul  is  found  in  peace. 


**  Soldier  of  Christ,  well  done  1 
Praise  be  thy  new  employ ; 
And,  while  eternal  ages  run. 
Best  in  thy  Savioor'B  joy." 


